)a6e/i/o'>'>-^/^^ 


UNIVERSITY  Or, 

ILLINOIS  LIBRARY 

AT  URBANA-CHAMPAIGH 

ILLINOIS  HISTORICAL  SURVEY 


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y-^oU^^i  f  3y. 


Jud^     ^    ^-^'^-C^. 


A  YOUNG  WOMAN  JOURNALIST 


A  MEMORIAL  TRIBUTE 


JULIA  A,  AMES, 


•'  U  BbaU  be  satisfic^  wben  IF  awal?e  in  Ubi?  Iii?enesB. 


THE  WOMAN'S    TEMPERANCE    PUBLISH  NG   ASSOCIATION, 
THE    TEMPLE, 

CHICAGO. 


COPYRIGHT,  1892. 

KBoman's  QEsmpiJrancc  f'uftigfiing  3g<?ociation, 

CHICAGO. 


sM-  /Aj^&w^^X^t^^ 


h 


TO 

MATILDA  B.  CARSE, 

WHOSE   MOTTO   IS 

"not   WILtlXG   THAT   ANY   SHOULD   PERISH" — 

A   WOMAN   OF 

GREAT   FAITH,    UNTIRING    ENERGY,    AND   DEVOTION 

TO    THE 

UPBUILDING   OF  THE   MASTER'S  KINGDOM, 

A  TRUE,    LOVING   FRIEND 

OF 

MY   COMRADE,   JULIA   AMES, 

AND   MY   OWN    DEVOTED   FRIEND   OF 

MANY   YEARS'    STANDING, 


'  THIS   VOLUME 

IS   LOVINGLY   DEDICATED. 


Rest  Cottage.  Evanston.  III. 


miW  ^i)t  Wia^  ILikt. 


FRANCES    E.    WILLARD. 


HIS  volume  is  not  meant  to  be 
simply  a  memorial  of  a  fair  young 
life.  We  think  the  earthly  years  of 
Julia  Ames  have  in  them  matter  of 
eminent  pith  and  moment  for  young 
women.  We  are  unwilling  that  the  torch 
she  lighted  should  fail  to  pass  from  her  kind 
and  steady  hands  into  the  hands  of  her  sisters 
among  the  bright  girls  of  the  nation  whose  aspira- 
tions and  powers  are  not  unlike  her  own. 

It  is  well  known  that  the  intelligent  young  Amer- 
ican girl  has  a  special  adaptation  for  journalistic  work, 
or  a  philanthropic  career,  or  both.  Miss  Ames  pos- 
sessed this  adaptation  in  a  notable  degree.  She  was 
at  once  a  wage-winner  and  a  reformer.  She  illus- 
trated that  dignity  of  character  which  chooses  to  be 
independent,  although  one's  father  would  gladly  pay 
all  expenses  and  afford  every  opportunity  of  culture. 
It  was  a  luxury  to  her  to  have  no  money  that  she 
did  not  earn.  There  was  happiness  in  the  knowl- 
edge and  feeling  that  her  work  increased  the  sum 
total  of  human  happiness. 


2  A    YOUNG    WOMAX  JOURNALIST. 

She  was  a  rare  combination  of  the  poetic  and  the 
practical.  The  methods  by  which  her  mind  was 
trained,  her  hand  made  skillful,  her  heart  mellow, 
her  whole  being  endued  with  Heavenly  power,  should 
be  set  forth  for  any  who  may  have  the  wisdom  to  in- 
vestigate them.  We  have,  therefore,  determined  to 
gather  up  so  far  as  possible  the  shining  strands  of 
this  white  life  and  braid  them  into  a  cable  that  shall 
reach  across  her  own  great  and  beloved  native  land, 
perchance  across  the  seas,  possibly  around  the  world. 
We  have  white-ribboners  everywhere,  and  this  book, 
we  hope,  will  be  in  their  hands  in  every  local  group 
and  every  zone.  L,et  no  one  make  the  mistake  of 
supposing  that  this  book  is  a  pressed  flower  exhal- 
ing only  the  fragrance  of  memory,  and  laid  upon 
the  grave  of  our  rare  friend  by  hands  that  often 
clasped  her  own  in  loving  token.  It  is  rather  meant 
to  be  a  sturdy  rose-tree  by  the  wayside,  with  bright 
colors  and  refreshing  perfume  for  any  who  may  pass. 

EARLY    DAYS. 

About  forty-five  years  ago  Isaac  Ames  came  to  his 
western  home  near  Streator,  Illinois,  one  hundred 
miles  from  Chicago,  from  New  Sharon,  Maine,  bring- 
ing with  him  his  bride,  whose  birthplace  was  Wil- 
ton, Maine,  whose  name  was  Arullia  Moorer.  For 
fifteen  years  they  lived  on  the  farm  where  Julia  was 
born,  which  is  situated  seven  miles  west  of  Odell,  in 
Livingston  county.  Julia  was  the  third  child,  there 
being  two  older  and  one  younger.  She  was  born 
October  14,  i860.     In  her  childhood  she  was  alwa^^s 


A   YOUNG   WOMAN  JOURNALIST.  3 

very  small  and  delicate,  but  as  she  grew  older  her 
health  became  quite  vigorous,  Julia  began  going  to 
school  when  only  three  years  old.  It  was  lonely  for 
her  to  be  left  at  home  when  the  older  children  went, 
and  she  had  cried  to  go  with  them.  So  she  was  per- 
mitted to  accompany  them  one  daj-,  it  being  thought 
that  she  would  not  desire  to  go  again,  but  instead  of 
that  she  was  delighted,  and  attended  every  day  that 
summer,  during  which  she  learned  to  read.  The 
schoolhouse  was  one  of  the  first  built  in  that  part  of 
the  country.  Her  father  helped  to  build  it  and 
taught  the  first  school  ever  convened  within  its  walls. 
The  name  of  the  Ames  schoolhouse  has  alwaj^s  clung 
to  it  and  made  it  a  sort  of  monument  to  the  first 
schoolmaster,  who  was,  like  his  youngest  daughter, 
a  devoted  lover  of  learning. 

Julia's  brother  Elmer  was  two  years  younger  than 
she,  and  was  always  her  companion  and  playmate. 
As  they  grew  up  they  lost  none  of  their  devotion  to 
each  other.  In  speaking  of  him  shortly  before  her 
death,  she  called  him  "  that  dear  boy,"  and  her  look 
and  manner  indicated  more  than  the  words.  The 
love  she  bore  him  was  greater,  perhaps,  than  that  she 
felt  for  any  other  of  her  relatives.  He  was  worthy  of 
it,  for  a  heart  more  loyal  never  beat. 

Her  elder  and  only  sister  well  remembers  the 
Sabbath  mornings  when  she  and  Julia  went  with  tlieir 
grandfather  to  the  little  schoolhouse  where  religious 
services  were  held,  in  which  he  always  participated. 
In  these  quiet  and  helpful  surroundings  she  grew 
until  she  was  seveq-years  old,  when  the  family  moved 
to  Streator,  Illinois.     Here  she  finished  her  course  of 


4  A   YOUNG    WOMAN   JOURNALIST. 

Study  in  the  public  school,  entering  high  school  in 
1873,  where  she  took  a  four  years'  course,  going 
thence  to  the  Wesleyan  University,  at  Bloomington, 
Illinois,  where  she  met  Professor  Fry,  one  of  the  most 
accomplished  teachers  of  the  West,  whom  she  always 
loved,  not  only  as  an  instructor,  but  as  a  most  helpful 
and  intimate  friend. 

It  was  an  invariable  rule  that  those  who  knew 
Miss  Ames  best  loved  her  the  best.  It  was  her  inner 
self  that  was  so  wonderful.  The  passing  acquaint- 
ance saw  a  bright,  beautiful  face,  a  gracious  bearing, 
heard  a  melodious  voice  and  felt  the  presence  atid 
impress  of  a  true  and  genial  nature.  But  these 
were  only  the  ornament  and  filagree  work  of  that 
noble  edifice,  her  character. 

Miss  Ames  early  acquired  the  habit  of  reading  in 
a  serious  fashion,  and  maintained  it  throughout  life. 
She  liked  to  write,  and  for  the  amusement  of  herself 
and  friends  composed  short  stories  which  she  read  to 
them  in  a  most  interesting  manner,  having  much  of 
the  dramatic  in  her  style. 

When  she  was  but  twelve  years  old  she  was  con- 
verted, having,  as  she  often  smilingly  said,  attended 
six  weeks  of  revival  meeting  in  the  old  church  in 
Streator  during  the  nine  years  of  her  residence  there. 
The  Methodist  Church  is  not  particularly  rigid,  so 
that  her  breezy  spirit  lost  none  of  its  elasticity  from 
being  developed  in  a  religious  atmosphere  .so  highly 
charged.  For  years  it  was  her  thought  that  she  would 
be  a  missionary,  and  when  she  decided  to  go  into  the 
temperance  work  one  of  her  friends  said  to  ber : 
"Julia,  you   have   then   relinquished  the  old  idea  ol 


A    YOUNG   WOMAN  JOURNALIST.  5 

oeing  a  mission arj' ?  "  whereupon  she  responded  in 
her  quick,  bright  way,  "  No,  indeed,  I  am  still  think- 
ing of  it  very  strongly  ;"  but  she  speedily  found  that 
temperance  is  really  practical  missionary  work. 

Miss  Ames  spoke  in  public  throughout  her  life  as 
a  school-girl  and  mature  student.  It  was  to  her  a 
matter  of  course.  She  had  an  easy  manner,  self-con- 
trol, a  fine  countenance,  clear  voice,  and  was  an  univer- 
sal favorite  on  the  platform,  even  as  a  child.  She 
alwa5'S  enjoyed  this  exercise  more  than  music  or 
painting,  although  she  "  took  lessons,"  as  we  say,  in 
both.  But  when  there  was  a  new  selection  to  be 
learned  and  recited,  she  put  aside  every  other  form  of 
occupation.  I  recall  one  contest  in  which  the  recita- 
tion rendered  by  her  was  very  pathetic,  and  the  tears 
rolled  down  her  cheeks,  so  much  did  she  enter  into  the 
spirit  of  her  work. 

During  the  Red  Ribbon  movement  in  Streator, 
which  followed  the  Crusade,  she  was  one  of  the  lead- 
ers. Busy  as  she  was  with  her  studies,  she  never 
seemed  at  a  loss  for  time  when  the  temperance  cause 
was  to  be  helped.  In  1883  her  parents  moved  to 
Chicago,  her  father  then  thinking  that  his  son  Elmer 
and  his  daughter  Julia  would  both  study  law,  which 
was  his  great  desire.  The  son  did  this,  but  Julia 
begged  so  hard  to  be  allowed  to  pursue  her  favorite 
study  of  elocution  that  she  carried  her  point,  as  she 
always  did  when  in  thorough  earnest,  and  took  a  full 
course  of  study  in  the  Chicago  School  of  Oratory. 

So  much  for  a  brief  outline  of  her  happy,  indus- 
trious, aspiring  early  days,  which  her  elder  sister 
gives  with  tender  and  pathetic  pleasure  as  her  contri- 


6  A    YOUXG    \VOMAN  JOURNALIST. 

butioii  to  the  book  which  shall  perpetuate  the  mem- 
ory of  "Yolande"  and  help  the  work  to  which  she 
was  devoted. 

A  most  interesting  letter  comes  from  her  former 
preceptor,  the  principal  of  Streator  High  School,  Mr. 
E.  P.  Murdock.     Professor  Murdock  writes  as  follows  : 

"  Miss  Julia  Ames  entered  the  High  School  in 
Streator  in  1873,  and  soon  distinguished  herself  by 
her  fondness  for  English  literature  and  history.  She 
was  an  excellent  reader  and  fine  declaimer.  Her 
quaint  humor  and  remarkable  good-nature  made  her 
a  fine  entertainer  at  the  public  exhibitions  which  the 
literary  societj'  frequently  gave,  so  that  the  school 
and  the  public  were  always  pleased  to  know  when  she 
was  to  take  a  prominent  part. 

"A  universal  favorite,  her  broad  charity,  even  in 
childhood,  disarmed  criticism  and  never  excited  en\'y 
or  jealousy. 

"  Through  the  whole  four  3-ears  of  her  pupilage,  I 
can  not  call  to  mind  one  single  unpleasantness  that 
ever  arose  between  her  and  the  teachers  or  students. 
In  zoology  and  botany  she  always  obtained  high 
grade,  as  her  love  for  nature  was  an  incentive 
for  the  most  careful  study  both  from  books  and  ob- 
jects. I  remember  well  her  first  eflforts  at  taxidermy, 
in  which  she  assisted  me  to  stuff  and  mount  a  bird. 
Her  simplicity,  frankness  and  truthfulness  made  her 
loved  by  all ;  in  fact,  I  can  remember  but  few  pupils 
in  my  whole  experience  of  teaching,  of  whom  I  have 
so  many  pleasing  recollections  as  of  Julia  Ames. 

"  In  my  last  conversation  with  her,  I  was  impressed 
by  the  remarkable  charity  displayed  in  excusing  faults 


A   YOUNG   WOMAN  JOURNALIST.  7 

and  discovering  good  in  others,  and  then  I  called 
to  mind  that  this  characteristic  had  signalized  itself  in 
her  manner  in  childhood. 

"In  times  like  these,  when  the  rush  and  hurry  of 
events  tends  to  estrange  people  from  each  other, 
there  seems  to  be  so  much  need  for  such  broad,  home- 
like natures  as  hers,  that  the  loss  appears  irreparable. 
Active  workers  may  be  plenty,  but  the  warm  love  and 
broad  charity  of  such  persons,  whose  very  presence 
makes  us  think  more  and  better  of  humanity,  is  too 
scarce  to  be  lost  without  being  deeply  felt." 

One  of  her  comrades  of  the  quill  has  written  of 
Yolande  thus  :  "Hers  was  a  deeply  religious  nature, 
and  her  religion  took  a  practical  form  in  loving  to 
labor  for  others.  She  was  President  at  one  time  of 
the  King's  Daughters  connected  with  the  publishing 
house  which  for  six  years  had  been  her  place  of  occu- 
pation. Her  association  with  women  of  mature  years 
had  rijDened  her  mind  and  made  her  an  intellectual 
companion  for  them.  Her  responsibilities  were 
greater  than  those  borne  by  most  women  of  middle 
age,  yet  her  patience  and  judgment  were  equal  to  the 
occasion.  Her  disposition  was  bright  and  gay,  yet 
kindly,  and  smiles  came  easily  to  her  lips  ;  but  there 
was  a  seriousness  underlying  this,  that  made  the  tear 
of  sympathy  rise  too  quickly  to  displace  the  smile. 
Mated  to  a  gentle  heart  were  a  sound  intellect  and 
first-rate  j  udgment.  Physically,  she  was  one  of  God's 
noblest  works,  a  beautiful  and  healthful  woman. 
Her  clear,  rosy  skin,  sparkling  eyes,  bonny  brown 
hair,  her  round,  plump  figure  and  light,  easy  bearing, 
were  most  pleasant  to  see.     For  four  long  weeks  she 


8  A    YOUNG    WOMAN   JOURNALIST. 

struggled  heroically  with  death,  and  the  resistance  of 
her  fine  physique  made  his  advance  slow." 

CHARACTER. 

When  she  was  gone,  her  comrades  began  their 
characterization  of  one  whom  they  had  long  known, 
studied  and  loved.  One  said  :  "  The  first  thing  that 
struck  me  about  her  was  that  she  was  handsome." 
Another  said  :  "  She  was  the  soul  of  winsomeness," 
and  still  another,  ' '  I  should  call  her  gracious,  most 
of  all."  Alice  Briggs,  mj'^  faithful  office  secretary, 
who  had  known  her  at  Rest  Cottage  through  the 
years,  said  :  "I  should  sum  up  her  traits  in  the  word 
lovableness."  Miss  Mar}'  Allen  West,  who  had  been 
with  her  more  than  most  of  us,  said  :  "I  should  call 
her  genuine."  This  is,  perhaps,  the  true  keynote. 
Nothing  is  so  great  as  genuineness,  but,  alas,  noth- 
ing is  so  rare,  for  it  manifests  a  certain  mental  poise,  a 
certain  level-headedness,  to  be  genuine  and  true  ;  to 
be  clear-cut,  the  real  grain  of  the  wood,  taking  the 
polish  of  God's  providence  with  no  veneer  about  it. 
Julia  Ames  was  genuine  after  this  fashion.  You 
could  depend  on  her.  What  she  said,  rang  out  like 
the  gold  coin  on  the  counter.  She  was  steadfast,  deep- 
natured,  as  the  tides  of  the  sea.  She  was  loyal  and 
faithful.  No  one  whom  I  have  ever  met  had  more 
exalted  ideals  of  conduct  and  character.  She  be- 
lieved in  one  standard  for  men  and  women,  in  the 
utmost  purity  and  clarity  of  habits  in  the  conduct  of 
life.  Tobacco  was  an  offense  to  her,  alcoholic  drinks 
she  could  not  tolerate,  and  "  a  white  life  for  two"  is 


A    YOUNG   WOMAN  JOURNALIST.  9 

the  least  that  seemed  to  her  a  safe  standard  for  any- 
home. 

She  was  loyal  towards  men,  sisterly  and  kind, 
with  no  little  meanness  of  remark  about  them,  but 
only  a  great  true  heart.  Because  she  loved  her  own 
brothers  and  was  proud  of  them,  she  would  reach  out 
to  everybody's  brother  to  help  make  his  life  pure 
and  good,  appreciating  the  greater  temptations  by 
which  men  are  surrounded.  Perhaps  it  was  this  that 
made  her  a  temperance  woman,  perhaps  some  loss, 
some  grief,  bravely  surmounted  and  outlived. 

So  she  came  along  with  us,  a  beautiful,  sunny 
heart,  that  sought  to  help  those  who  had  borne  for 
many  years  the  burdens  and  heat  of  the  day.  She 
soon  caught  the  step  of  the  veterans  and  kept  time  to 
the  company's  music.  Our  young  editor  was  a  radi- 
cal in  the  way  in  which  she  took  the  great  onward 
movements  of  the  reform  ocean,  "when  the  flowing 
tide  came  in,"  as  a  strong  swimmer  takes  a  new  wave. 
She  believed  in  prohibition  in  the  strongest  and  larg- 
est meaning  of  that  much  controverted  word.  She 
believed  in  women,  and  that  the  world  would  be 
better,  happier  and  richer  when  men  and  women  had 
more  interests  in  common,  more  occupations  that 
were  alike,  and  when  the  great  heart  of  home  went 
out  into  the  world,  since  the  homeless  world  had 
needed  it  so  long. 

I  should  say,  in  summing  up  her  character,  that 
she  had  a  divine  curiosity  and  a  divine  discontent. 
Anybody  can  have  a  human  curiosity  and  be  occupied 
with  the  things  clcse  about  us,  but  that  curiosity 
may     degenerate     into    mere    current     gossip.     But 


lO  A    YOrXG    WOMAX   JOURNALIST. 

hers  was  divine,  and  never  stopped  until  it  got  to 
God.  She  loved  to  see  His  ways  of  working  in 
nature.  She  loved  to  look  into  His  beautiful,  mys- 
terious laboratory  of  the  earth  and  His  great  ob- 
servatory of  the  sky.  She  loved  to  study  God  in 
great  and  generous  characters,  in  historj^  in  reform, 
and  sometimes  I  used  to  wish  that  her  curiosity  had 
been  a  little  less  divine,  for  to  do  all  these  high 
and  holy  things  she  was  wont  to  burn  the  midnight 
lamp.  It  was  her  special  fault  and  specifically  con- 
nected with  that  larger  infirmity  of  hers,  carelessness 
in  respect  to  health.  Many  a  time  have  I  asked  her 
when  she  would  come  to  speak  to  me  at  breakfast 
before  starting  for  Chicago  and  her  hard  day's  work, 
"  Were  you  up  late  last  night,  my  younger  sister?  " 
"  Yes,"  she  would  answer,  "it  is  the  onh'-  time  I  get 
to  study."  And  I  would  pat  her  on  the  cheek  and 
saj',  "My  dear,  I  am  afraid  I  shall  yet  make  your 
funeral  address  ;"  whereupon  she  would  reply 
laughingly,  "Of  course  you  will.  You  know  you 
promised  long  ago. ' ' 

As  I  said,  she  had  a  divine  discontent.  Anybody 
can  have  a  simply  human  discontent.  Indeed,  most 
people  have,  and  little  does  it  serve  them.  But  she 
looked  up  so  much  into  the  great  blue  heavens,  that 
I  think  maybe  she  was  a  little  weaned  from  this 
world,  for  in  the  sky  they  tell  us  that  there 
are  two  hundred  million  worlds.  I  think  .she  was 
smitten  in  her  soul  with  a  thirst  for  immortality. 
And,  really,  there  is  nothing  else  worth  living  for, 
when  one  comes  to  think  about  it.  If  we  are  not 
immortal,  if  there  is  not  a  great  free  life  beyond,  as 


A  YOUXG  WOMA>r  JOURNALIST.  II 

great  as  the  outreaching  of  the  heart,  as  great  as  the 
contriving  of  the  brain,  as  great  as  the  faith  that 
fastens  the  aspiring  soul  to  God,  then  we  are  the 
mightiest  mockery  that  has  been  let  loose  to  feed  on 
its  own  anguish. 

I  think  "Yolande,"  as  we  delighted  to  call  her, 
was  wont  to  say  to  herself  as  that  cosmopolitan  poet, 
Victor  Hugo,  said  : 

"Be  like  a  bird  just  for  an  instant  lighted 
Upon  a  branch  that  swings  ; 
She  feels  it  yield,  yet  sings  on  unaflfrighted. 
Knowing  she  hath  her  wings." 

She  knew  she  had  her  wings.  She  is  trying  them 
these  days. 

A  schoolmate  of  earlier  years  bears  this  remark- 
able testimony,  to  which  we  who  during  the  last  six 
years  of  her  life  knew  her  so  well,  at  her  beloved  Rest 
Cottage  home,  can  heartily  subscribe  : 

"She  seemed  incapable  of  malice.  She  never 
antagonized.  I  think  she  was  inclined  to  believe 
the  best  possible  of  everybody,  and  naturally  enough 
she  received  everybody's  good  will  in  return.  I 
think  her  girlhood,  rightly  understood,  showed  her 
capable  of  great  and  persevering  devotion  when  her 
interest  was  once  thoroughly  aroused.  She  was 
peculiar  in  that  her  fixed  purposes  were  followed  in 
the  under-current  of  her  nature,  for  her  outward  man- 
ner was  so  gay  and  bright  that  only  those  who  knew 
her  best,  realized  the  deep  undej-girdings  of  her  power. 
I  have  no  doubt  that  what  she  showed  in  early  life, 


12  A    YOUNG    WOMAN  JOURNALIST 

that  lovely,  genial  disposition  combined,  as  so  rarely 
occurs,  with  persevering  devotion  to  any  person  or 
to  any  cause  to  which  she  was  attached,  made  up 
the  warp  and  woof  of  the  character  that  came  to  be  so 
much  admired  by  the  white- ribboners." 


PROFESSOR   SUSAN    M.   D.  FRY. 

VER  since  the  receipt  of   Miss  Wil- 

lard's  letter  saying,  "Our  beloved 

Julia  Ames  lias  passed  to  her  native 

climate  of  heaven,"  one  incident  in 

the  school  life  of  Julia  has   come  to 

me  more  frequentl}'  and  more  vividly  than 

^      any  other. 

At  dusk  one  Sabbath  evening,  on  entering 
my  room  at  Henrietta  Hall  after  an  absence  of  several 
hours,  I  heard  most  piteous  sobs  in  the  adjoining 
room.  They  were  smothered  outbursts  from  a  heart 
that  seemed  broken  to  pieces  by  some  mighty  sorrow 
which  had  suddenly  fallen  upon  it.  I  said,  "Julia 
has  lost  her  father  or  mother,"  and  hastened  to  com- 
fort her.  I  found  her  lying  upon  her  bed,  face  down- 
wards, in  a  state  of  the  most  intense  excitement  and 
grief.  What  was  my  surprise,  when  I  put  my  arms 
about  her  and  begged  her  to  tell  me  what  had  hap- 
pened, to  hear  her  reply,  "  No,  no,  I  will  not  tell  you. 
You  will  hate  me.  I  wish  I  were  dead  !  I  wish  I 
were  dead  !  "  I  could  not  believe  that  Julia  had  been 
guilty  of  anything  unworthy  of  herself.     And,  at  any 


14  A    YOUNG    WOMAN   JOURNALIST. 

rate,  she  must  be  calmed  and  helped.  After  repeated 
pleadings  on  my  part  and  assurances  of  love,  no 
matter  how  serious  the  case  might  be,  she  yielded, 
and  with  a  struggle  such  as  a  criminal  might  make  to 
confess  a  crime,  she  said,  "  I  am  down  for  an  oration 
in  my  literary  society  and  I  can  not  write  one  ;  I  am  a 
fool,  I  am  a  fool  !  "  It  was  in  vain  that  I  assured 
her  that  first  efforts  were  never  orations  but  only 
essays  committed  to  memorj^  that  she  would  grow  to 
the  heights  of  an  oration,  in  time,  and  that  other 
students  had  to  make  a  beginning  as  she  did.  No,, 
she  ought  to  know  how  to  write  an  oration.  It  was 
inexcusable  that  she  did  not.  She  must  write  an 
oration,  or  nothing.  How  exaggerated  her  grief 
seems  at  this  distance.  How  many  times  in  later 
years  has  her  face  beamed  upon  me  in  bright  ap- 
preciation of  the  ludicrousness  of  the  scene,  as  we 
have  referred  to  the  tremendous  struggle  of  that 
occasion. 

This  early  incident  in  Julia's  school  life  at  the 
Illinois  Wesleyan  University  at  Bloomington,  which 
began  September,  1879,  and  lasted  but  two  years, 
gives  the  key  to  at  least  two  of  her  chief  characteris- 
tics. She  was  determined  to  do  things  well — perfectly, 
if  possible ;  she  was  hard  toward  herself.  Becky 
Sharp  (pardon  the  allusion)  claimed  the  right  to 
mother  herself,  that  she  might  further  her  own  selfish 
ends  and  advance  Becky  to  a  good  place,  where  she 
might  eat  somebody  else's  white  bread,  and  wear  au 
undeserved  honor  or  a  title ;  but  Julia  was,  at  best, 
but  a  poor  step-mother  to  herself.  She  would  not 
palliate  or  excuse  her  own  shortcomings.     She  was 


A    YOUNG   WOMAN   JOURNALIST.  1 5 

always  read}^  to  say,  "But  I  ought  to  know,"  and 
equally  ready  to  say,  "  I  will  know." 

She  mastered  every  subject  she  undertook,  and  so 
far  as  I  know  always  stood  first  grade.  I  have  heard 
her  say  many  times  that  she  would  not  accept  a  sec- 
ond grade ;  that  if  necessary  she  would  study  all  night 
to  avoid  such  a  calamity  ;  and  that  in  the  event  of 
such  a  visitation  she  would  leave  the  school  in  dis- 
grace. But  she  did  not  study  for  grades  alone.  She 
had  an  unquenchable  thirst  for  knowledge,  which  her 
college  life  increased.  Her  sister  writes  me,  "All 
Julia  gained  at  Bloomington  made  her  crave  more, 
so  that  when  she  left  Bloomington  she  was  simply 
aflame  with  the  desire  to  know." 

She  did  not  aim,  or  desire,  to  take  a  college 
course.  Literature  and  history,  art  and  aesthetics 
were  her  favorite  studies.  She  took  all  of  these 
laid  down  in  the  college  curriculum,  some  of  the 
languages  and  natural  sciences,  and  left  school  in 
June,    1881. 

The  Munsellian  literary  society,  for  which  she  de- 
sited  to  write  the  oration,  had  become  very  proud  of 
her  for  her  conscientious  work  and  fine  dramatic  abil- 
ity. She  was  a  member  of  the  Kappa  Gamma  Greek 
fraternity.  Her  sisters  in  these  societies  watched  her 
career  with  pride  and  pleasure,  and  her  memory  will 
long  be  enshrined  in  their  hearts.  She  attended  the 
Monday  evening  prayer-meeting  held  by  the  young 
ladies  of  the  Hall,  and  constantly  let  her  influence  be 
felt  in  favor  of  right  living  and  right  doing.  She  had 
a  quick  sense  of  humor,  but  an  equally  strong  sense 
of  decorum    preserved  her  dignity  under  trying  cir- 


l6  A   YOUNG   WOMAN  JOURNALIST. 

curastances,  and  made  her  a  sort  of  censor  to  her  fol- 
lowers, who  were  numerous. 

She  was  sensitive  to  her  environments,  and  easily 
became  en  rapport  with  the  highest  teachings  of  phi- 
losophy and  religion.  She  had  observ^ation  and  spirit- 
ual vitality.  Her  soul  naturally  repelled  the  low  and 
groveling  and  went  forth  freely  to  seek  kinship  with 
the  pure  and  Xoity. 

As  I  remember  Julia,  she  was  more  serious  than 
most  girls  of  her  age.  Her  conscience  was  not  often, 
if  ever,  satisfied  with  her  best  endeavors.  She  had, 
even  during  her  school  days,  that  "  divine  dissatisfac- 
tion," as  some  one  has  put  it,  which  urged  her  on, 
night  and  day.  This  was  not  disclosed  by  ordinary 
nervousness,  or  by  that  air  of  heavy  business  and 
much  work  which  young  people  are  apt  to  carry 
when  they  feel  the  first  pressure  of  responsible  indi- 
viduality. Her  inward  urgings  were  known  only  to 
the  observing  few,  by  her  thoughtfulness  and  persist- 
ent devotion  to  a  subject  until  she  had  mastered  it  ; 
or  to  her  choicest  friends  by  an  occasional  outpouring 
of  her  aspirations  in  an  hour  of  quiet  conference  and 
confidence.  She  did  not  waste  her  time  in  idle  castle- 
building.  She  did  not  cast  a  halo  of  glory  about 
herself,  born  of  her  own  imaginings,  to  proclaim  her- 
self as  a  girl  of  infinite  longings,  high  aspirations, 
lofty  hopes  and  awful  fears.  She  did  not  beat  her 
pretty  wings  against  the  homely  limitations  of  this 
plodding,  work-a-day  world,  and  fret  her  young  life 
into  wrinkles  and  furrows  of  disappointment — and  all 
through  no  fault  of  hers.  No,  Julia  was  not  visionary, 
she  was  not  sentimental,  the  times  were  not   "  out  of 


A    YOUNG   WOMAN  JOURNALIST.  1 7 

joint"  for  her.  She  was  not  unhappy.  She  was 
simply  a  calm,  self-possessed,  serious  worker,  a 
striver  after  the  best.  She  had  learned,  somehow  or 
other,  to  estimate  somewhat  properly  the  worth  of 
this  world.  This  was  before  she  had  learned  to  know 
and  to  love  Robert  Browning,  as  she  afterward  came 
to  know  and  love  him,  but  she  already  felt  that  "a 
man's  reach  should  exceed  his  grasp."  She  seemed 
to  realize  that  the  works  of  a  great  soul  always  bear 
the  marks  of  imperfection—  failure  to  attain  its  ideal ; 
but  that  this  very  imperfection  implies  the  possibility 
of  farther  progress  ;  and  that 

•  •  The  best  is  yet  to  be, 
The  last  of  life,  for  which  the  first  was  made." 

Her  favorite  and  often-quoted  text  was  : 

"As  for  me,  I  will  behold  thy  face  in  righteousuess:  I  shall 
be  satisfied  when  I  awake  with  thy  likeness." — Psalms xvii:  15. 

When  she  first  came  to  the  Illinois  Wesleyan  Uni- 
versity she  had  a  strong  desire  to  adopt  the  stage  as  a 
profession.  This  seems  contradictory  to  what  I  have 
already  said.  But  her  ideal  stage  was  quite  different 
from  the  real ;  and  as  she  realized  more  and  more  the 
impossibility  of  carrying  out  the  good  she  planned  in 
that  profession,  wiser  counsel  prevailed  and  she  aban- 
doned all  thought  of  the  stage,  and  decided  to  devote 
herself  to  some  line  of  literary  work. 

Her  independence  of  thought  and  action  was  very 
marked.  Having  settled  a  point  in  her  own  mind,  it 
was  settled. 


l8  A   YOUNG    WOMAN  JOURNALIST. 

Believing  a  thing  to  be  proper  and  right,  it  was 
done.  She  did  not  wish  to  be  helped  in  her  studies 
or  in  her  recitations.  She  liked  the  teacher  best  who 
let  her  recite,  or  fail,  according  to  what  she  knew. 
She  wished  to  become  self-supporting  as  soon  as  pos- 
sible. She  used  her  money  with  as  much  care  and 
economy  as  if  it  were  grudgingly  bestowed.  This 
was  the  more  remarkable  from  the  fact  that  her 
supply  was  unstinted,  and  that  she  was  urged  to  have 
expensive  things  which  .she  refused.  She  believed 
her  father's  generosity  unbounded,  that  she  could 
never  repay  him  for  what  he  had  already  done  for 
her,  and  that  she  ought  to  show  her  appreciation  of 
his  love  and  care  by  economy,  and,  as  soon  as  possi- 
ble, by  earning  her  own  living.  Then,  too,  she  felt 
that  she  had  a  work  to  do  and  longed  to  be  about 
it.  After  leaving  school  she  often  said,  "How  can 
girls  be  satisfied  with  the  round  of  little  nothings  to 
which  they  give  themselves  !  "  She  pitied  them  and 
longed  to  lead  them  into  broader  and  better  work — 
into  something  which  would  widen  their  s\'mpathies 
and  make  them  better  and  more  helpful  in  this  world 
of  sin  and  suffering. 

I  have  spoken  so  much  of  Julia's  thoughtfulness, 
that  one  might  think  her  solemn.  Not  so.  She  was 
as  bright  and  cheerful  a  girl  as  one  would  wish  to  see. 
She  was  not  variable  in  moods.  Her  eyes  sparkled 
at  a  repartee,  and  her  face  flashed  into  contagious 
laughter  at  a  witticism.  She  hated  sham  and  affecta- 
tion of  any  kind.  I  do  not  remember  anything  that 
would  more  effectually  close  her  lips,  or  in  an  extreme 
case,  draw  forth  an  arrow  of  sarcasm,  as  vSliam.     On 


A   YOUNG    WOMAN    JOURNALIST.  I9 

the  other  hand,  she  was  always  kind  and  helpful  to 
the  unsophisticated  or  ignorant. 

How  often  her  face  told  me  these  pleasing  stories 
of  herself,  as  she  sat  opposite  me  at  the  table  and  as- 
sisted in  serving  and  entertaining  guests  that  came 
and  went. 

But  how  shall  I  speak  of  the  love  and  self-sacrifice 
of  which  she  was  capable  ?  Her  inner  sanctuary  was 
for  the  few  ;  but  her  sympathy  and  self-sacrifice  were 
for  all.  I  remember  how  she  devoted  herself  to  a 
young  lady  who  had  the  misfortune  to  slip  upon  a 
muddy  crossing  and  break  her  leg.  It  was  a  grave 
and  startling  event  at  the  Hall.  Julia  turned  nurse, 
installed  herself  in  her  schoolmate's  room,  showered 
the  leg  with  water  day  and  night  with  some  help 
from  others,  stood  by  while  the  plaster  cast  was  put 
on,  and  crowned  all,  in  a  few  days,  by  placing  Miss 

S in  a  rocking-chair  and  drawing  her  smoothly 

along,  while  another  girl  supported  and  carried  the 
broken  leg,  and  thus  brought  her  from  her  small 
room  in  one  wing  of  the  house  to  Julia's  large,  airy 
room  in  the  other,  and  then  called  me  up  to  admire 
the  achievement.  My  alarm  and  disapproval  fell, 
however,  before  her  assertion  that  the  doctor  had 
given  his  consent.  The  fact  was,  the  doctor  believed 
Julia's  generalship  equal  to  the  undertaking,  and 
he  often  said  no  broken  leg  ever  got  on  better,  and 
that  it  was  all  owing  to  the  good  nursing  it  had. 
Julia's  studies  went  right  on  through  all  this,  though 
I  well  remember  the  wearisome  nights  when  the  bones 
were  knitting  and  none  of  us  could  comfort  the  suffer- 
ing girl,  and  the  doctor  must  be  called.     This  young 


20  A    YOUNG   WOMAN    JOURNALIST. 

lady  had  not  been,  so  far  as  I  knew,  a  particular 
friend  of  Julia's.  But  the  girl's  misfortune  called  out 
the  cheerful  helpfulness  which  went  on  developing 
so  beautifully  in  these  after  years. 

I  loved  her,  and  I  love  her  with  a  great  and  un- 
dying love  :  but  I  can  not  be  true  to  my  life  as  an 
educator,  can  not  be  true  to  the  hundreds  of  other 
students  who  have  filled  my  classes  and  my  heart,  did 
I  not  say  one  thing  more.  Julia  was  not  kind  to  her- 
self in  everything.  She  could  not  be  impressed  with 
the  necessit}^  and  duty  of  caring  for  her  health. 
Against  all  protests,  she  did  much  of  her  work  at 
night  and  often  went  to  school  without  breakfast. 
She  wished  it  were  otherwise,  but  declared  she  could 
not  sleep  if  a  lesson  were  left  unlearned.  She  taxed 
herself  beyond  measure  and  would  not  be  warned  by 
the  most  solemn  protests  from  those  whom  she  loved 
and  revered.  She  was  careful  of  others  in  every  par- 
ticular, of  herself  in  none.  Blind  to  her  own  physical 
limitations,  ill  in  bed  at  the  Hall,  she  would  have  no 
physician.  A  friend  lately  reminded  her  of  having 
called  a  physician  against  her  protest,  at  the  time 
alluded  to.  "Yes,"  was  the  playful  reply,  "and  I 
have  n't  forgiv^en  you  for  it  yet."  These  habits,  in- 
dulged in  at  school,  went  with  her  through  her  short 
life  ;  and  it  ma^^  be  that  this  girl,  tenderly  loved  and 
prized  by  so  many  who  would  gladly  have  res- 
cued her  from  peril — it  is  possible  that  she  was  the 
victim  of  neglect,  and  that  her  own.  She  was  just 
coming  into  the  prime  of  life,  of  highest  and  best 
womanhood,  when  she  ceased  from  her  labors.  She 
had  laid  well  the  foundation  in  all  things  save  one. 


A  YOUNG  WOMAN  JOURNALIST.  21 

We  who  watched  and  loved  her  can  only  wish  that 
she  had  cared  more  for  her  health,  and  perhaps — per- 
haps— she  might  have  wrought  a  much  greater  work, 
who  knows  ? 

Emulate,  if  you  will,  her  desire  to  know.  Emu- 
late her  love  of  the  good,  the  true,  and  the  beautiful. 
Emulate  her  devotion  to  God  and  humanity,  her  will 
power,  her  energy,  her  executive  ability,  her  winsome- 
ness,  her  suavity.  Emulate  her  virtues  as  a  loving 
daughter,  a  devoted  sister,  a  consecrated  friend  ;  but 
do  not  forget,  as  she  did,  to  care  for  the  casket  which 
holds  the  jewel.  "  Know  3^e  not  that  your  bodj'  is 
the  temple  of  the  Holy  Ghost  ? ' ' 

Julia  was  very  fond  of  the  fine  arts.  The  first  year 
she  was  in  school,  she  saved  money  to  send  to  Europe 
for  views  of  scenery  and  masterpieces  of  art.  She 
had  the  most  intense  longing  to  know  about  them,  to 
see  them  for  herself,  and  to  be  able  to  read  their  lan- 
guage. She  cherished  the  thought  that  we  would 
see  Europe  together,  some  day.  I  shall  not  soon  for- 
get the  beautiful  Sabbath  we  spent  together  no;  long 
before  she  sailed  for  the  Old  World,  in  1890.  She 
had  come  to  urge  me  to  accompany  her,  and  I  talked 
so  hopefully  of  the  possibility  of  mj^  going  that  she 
was  radiant  all  day  long.  We  recalled  so  many 
happy  things  of  the  school-days  and  the  girls,  talked 
so  much  of  present  work,  and  of  the  bright  future, 
that  the  hours  slid  by  on  a  shining  track.  It  was  a 
satisfying  day  of  full,  free,  and  uninterrupted  com- 
muning. At  last,  we  had  told  all,  had  read  each 
other  through  and  through  again,  and  were  satisfied 
and  happ3'.     Nev^er  before  had  she  bade  me  good-bj'^e 


22  A   YOUNG   WOMAN  JOURNALIST. 

without  a  sorrowful  face,  but  she  was  so  hopeful  now 
of  the  future — and  yet  this  was  my  last  day  with  Julia. 
Only  once  more  did  I  see  her,  when  I  bade  her  good- 
bye for  her  trip  abroad,  without  knowing  that  those 
kisses  would  serve  for  the  long,  long  farewell,  as  she 
journeyed  to  that  land  from  which  no  traveler  returns. 

The  sympathetic  Charles  Dickens  said,  "It  is  to 
the  little  familiar  things  suggestive  of  the  voice,  look, 
manner,  never,  never  more  to  be  encountered  on  this 
earth,  that  the  mind  first  turns  in  a  bereavement." 
I  recall  Julia  now  at  Commencement,  the  first  after 
she  had  left  school.  The  sunny  face  and  brown  eyes 
beamed  upon  me  from  under  a  broad-brimnied  leg- 
horn hat — the  roses  of  which  were  not  redder  than 
her  cheeks  during  all  the  exercises  ;  and  I  was  sur- 
prised and  almost  startled,  when,  upon  greeting  her  at 
the  close,  the  tears  rained  down  her  cheeks,  and  she 
clutig  to  me  with  passionate  eagerness  as  if  she  had 
just  found  a  long  lost  lover.  Never  have  I  known 
any  other  with  such  intense  devotion  to  a  friend  — such 
hunger  as  haunted  her  soul  for  those  whom  she  loved  ! 

How  often  she  used  to  appear  in  my  room  after 
tea,  archly  saying,  "I  am  so  hungry  to  see  you. 
Don't  you  want  me  to  read  to  you?"  She  dearly 
loved  poetry,  travel,  fiction.  She  enjoyed  reading 
aloud  and  interchanging  thoughts,  especially  about 
the  interpretation  of  a  poem,  the  poet's  moods,  his 
limitations,  his  beliefs  or  teachings.  She  was  so 
frank  and  open-hearted,  so  transparent,  that  I  seem  to 
haw  had  her  with  me  ages  rather  than  for  two  short 
years.  Even  at  that  time  in  her  life  she  was  the  ex- 
emplification of  Emerson's  philosophy  in  regard  to 


A   YOUNG  WOMAN  JOURNAl,IST. 


23 


friendship.  She  had  the  element  of  truth  and  the 
element  of  tenderness,  and  might  have  said  with  him , 
' '  Let  the  soul  be  assured  that  somewhere  in  the 
universe  it  should  rejoin  its  friend,  and  it  would  be 
content  and  cheerful  alone  for  a  thousand  years." 
In  my  last  letter  from  her,  dated  June  26,  1 891,— our 
correspondence  was  always  irregular  and  at  long  in- 
tervals— she  says:  "One  blessed  thing  about  our 
friendship  is,  it  is  not  in  the  least  affected  by  time, 'or 
absence,  or  silence.  I  am  sure  I  have  my  place  in 
your  heart,  whatever  may  betide,  and  you  have  a 
large  corner  in  mine."  Her  society  was  to  me,  and  I 
am  sure  it  was  such  to  others,  "poetic,  pure,  uni- 
versal, and  great  as  nature  itself."  And  now,  in  the 
radiance  of  the  past,  she  seems  shrouded  in  a  bright 
halo,  undimmed  by  spot  or  blemish. 


I^ome  Hifc  at  l^t^i  (lltJttage. 


HELEN    L.    HOOD, 

HAT  is  the  secret  of  your  life?" 
asked  Mrs.  Browning  of  Charles 
Kingsley  ;  ' '  tell  me,  that  I  may  make 
mine  beautiful,  too." 
replied,  "  I  had  a  friend." 
What  a  wondrous  sentence  and  what  a 
world  of  love  and  tenderness  it  covers.  To  me, 
writing  from  dear  Rest  Cottage,  the  home  of  my 
beloved  leader.  Miss  Willard,  hallowed  by  a  thousand 
memories  of  the  past,  full  of  so  many  tender  a.ssocia- 
tions,  these  words,  "I  had  a  friend,"  are  infinitely 
precious,  for  they  express  all  of  the  love,  trust  and 
confidence  which  was  between  Yolande  and  myself, 
and  which  for  six  years  was  ours  to  enjoy  without 
interruption, 

I  first  became  acquainted  with  her  in  the  summer 
of  1885  at  our  Lake  Bluff  (Illinois)  Training  School — 
but  our  real  acquaintance  did  not  begin  until  the 
National  Woman's  Christian  Temperance  Union  Con- 
vention which  was  held  a  few  months  later  at  Phila- 
delphia. On  our  way  to  the  Convention,  she  was 
made  a  delegate  by  our  Illinois  white-ribboners,  for 


A   YOUNG  WOMAN  JOURNALIST.  25 

we  all  desired  to  honor  such  a  noble,  beautiful  woman. 
Miss  Ames  was  ill  en  route,  and  it  was  my  great 
privilege  to  be  the  one  to  take  care  of  her  and  arrange 
for  her  comfort.  The  Convention  was  a  great  revela- 
tion to  her,  and  she  enjoyed  with  enthusiasm  all  the 
meetings  ;  the  experience  there  gained,  fixed,  in  a 
great  measure,  her  longing  to  be  a  worker  in  the  cause 
of  humanity.  On  our  way  home,  we  talked  long  and 
earnestl}'  about  her  future,  I  urging  her  all  the  while 
to  come  and  cast  in  her  lot  with  us  "  white- rib- 
boners.  ' '  A  very  pleasing  little  incident  occurred  dur- 
ing this  homeward  ride.  Mrs.  Matilda  B.  Carse  was 
in  our  car,  reading  the  novel  "  Yolande,"  by  William 
Black.  Seeing  a  resemblance  in  the  character  of  the 
heroine  of  this  book  to  Miss  Ames,  she  called  her  to 
her  side  and  requesting  her  to  kneel,  put  her  hand  on 
her  head,  and  kissing  her  lovingly  on  the  forehead, 
said:  "Arise!  I  dub  thee,  Yolande  " — a  name  by 
which  she  was  known  afterwards  by  all  her  associates. 
On  her  return,  Yolande  became  actively  engaged 
in  the  work  of  the  Chicago  Central  Union,  one  of 
the  oldest  and  most  influential  in  the  cit}\  She  in- 
stituted the  work  of  preparing  for  the  papers  of  that 
city  weekly  items  of  temperance  news,  and  was  made 
the  Press  Superintendent  for  the  Union.  I  went  with 
her  to  some  of  our  city  editors  the  first  time  she  asked 
for  entrance  to  their  columns.  From  most  of  them 
she  received  a  pleasant  welcome,  but  one  gentleman 
declared  that  temperance  news  was  a  stale  article  and 
not  wanted.  I  remember  the  indignation  with  which 
we  received  this  communication,  and  I  remember  also 
that   we   both   lived  to  see  the  day  when  this  same 


26  A   YOUNG   WOMAN  JOURXAIJST. 

editor  congratulated  Miss  Ames  on  the  success  she 
had  made  of  her  Press  work. 

She  became  very  much  interested  in  the  Be'ch- 
esda  Mission,  which  was  conducted  by  the  Chicago 
Union,  and  situated  on  Clark  street,  one  of  the  worst 
streets  of  the  city.  Here  every  Sunday,  no  matter 
what  the  weather  was.  Miss  Ames  could  be  found 
teaching  in  the  Sunday-school.  We  would  usually 
meet  at  some  appointed  place  beforehand,  and  go 
down  together  to  the  school,  and  talk  on  our  way  of 
Him  who  came  to  save  such  as  these  were.  The 
picture  comes  to  me  now,  of  that  fair,  sweet  face, 
in  the  midst  of  her  little  group  of  dirty-faced,  ragged 
and  unkempt  children,  having  upon  it  the  seal  of  the 
Master's  approval  because  she  was  doing  His  work. 
This  mission,  as  well  as  the  one  for  homeless,  friend- 
less women,  which  the  Union  cares  for,  had  an  active 
worker  in  Miss  Ames.  The  mission  for  women  was 
named  by  her  "The  Anchorage,"  and  for  a  long 
time  she  kept  a  white  lily  in  the  windows  of  its  read- 
ing-room, so  that  the  outcast  women  who  passed  its 
windows  might  see  this  pure  flower,  and,  being  at- 
tracted, might  come  in  and  learn  of  a  better  life. 

In  the  spring  of  1886,  Miss  Ames'  family  moved 
from  Chicago,  her  well  beloved  brother,  Blmer,  having 
finished  his  law  school,  and  gone  west,  and  then  she 
came  to  live  with  us  at  Rest  Cottage.  It  was  now 
her  active  life  began,  and  as  each  burden  of  a  new  re- 
sponsibility came  to  her,  she  rose  to  meet  it  with  a 
cheerful  spirit  which  helped  greatly  to  overcome  what 
difficulties  there  might  be  hidden  in  it.  It  was  in  the 
home  life  that  Yolande  was  the  most  charming.     To 


A   YOUNG   WOMAN  JOURNALIST.  27 

a  sweet,  lovable  disposition  was  added  a  graciousness 
of  manner  and  cordiality  that  made  all  love  her.  She 
had  rich  mental  gifts  which  made  her  a  most  charm- 
ing entertainer.  Her  cultivated  voice  and  trained 
elocutionary  powers  were  often  called  into  requisition 
by  her  enthusiastic  audience  of  home  folks  at  Rest 
Cottage,  or  at  the  simple  festivals  when  neighbors 
gathered  in  its  parlors ;  then  she  would  recite 
James  Whitcomb  Riley's,  "The  gobble-uns  '11  git 
you,  ef  you  don't  watch  eout,"  with  that  inimitable 
expression  of  a  scared  child ;  or  Josiah  Allen's 
"  Fourth  of  July  at  Jonesville, "  or  my  favorite,  "Aux 
des  Italiens,"  by  Owen  Meredith.  None  who  have 
been  present  at  these  merry  doings  will  ever  forget 
the  radiant  face  of  my  beloved  friend,  the  eyes  bright 
with  excitement,  the  tremulous  lips  full  of  expres- 
sion, the  dainty  pink  color  in  the  classical  face, — one 
moment  the  features  lit  up  with  laughter,  the  next 
bedimmed  with  tears,  and  her  audience  everj^  one 
reflecting  in  their  faces  her  own.  Miss  Willard  and 
dear  Madame  Willard  especially  delighted  in  these 
little  merrj'-makings,  and  Yolande  was  never  tired 
of  pleasing  these  whom  she  loved. 

But  it  was  in  our  own  little  study,  which  we  had 
named  "Sans-Souci,"  that  the  greatest  heart  com- 
fort was  taken  by  us.  Here  we  had  fitted  up  a  room 
with  dainty  hangings,  bric-a-brac,  pictures  and  pretty 
souvenirs  of  friends  and  travels  scattered  around, 
and  in  this  room  were  spent  some  of  our  hap- 
piest hours.  She,  with  noble  face,  sitting  in  her 
favorite  chair — a  gift  of  mine  to  her, —  and  I  in  my 
easy-chair,  which  had  been  given  me  by  our  white- 


28  A   YOUNG   WOMAN   JOURNALIST. 

ribboners  at  the  Chicago  National  W.  C.  T.  U. 
Convention,  the  table  loaded  with  books,  maga- 
zines and  papers,  the  lamp  shedding  a  soft,  clear 
glow  around;  and  there  after  the  day's  work  was  done 
we  would  sit  and  talk  of  our  plans  for  the  future, 
incidents  of  the  day,  or  of  spiritual  things,  and  come 
nearer  one  to  another  in  those  confidences  of  heart  to 
heart.  Or,  when  our  work  was  still  undone  by  the 
ending  of  the  day,  and  we  sat  at  our  separate  desks 
writing,  there  was  still  that  feeling  of  satisfaction  and 
content  because  we  were  not  far  apart.  Oftentimes 
friends  would  drop  in,  and  then  our  little  five  o'clock 
tea-kettle  was  lit,  and  soon  we  were  enjoying  a  cup 
of  delicious  tea,  made  more  fragrant  because  of  the 
dear  hands  that  had  prepared  it;  and  so  we  would  sit, 
a  group  of  us— Esther  Pugh,  Mrs.  Buell,  Kate  Jack- 
son, Alice  Briggs,  Irene  Fockler,  Anna  Gordon, 
noble  white-ribboners,  and  other  friends — with  our 
beloved  chieftain,  Miss  Willard,  in  the  midst,  and 
pass  a  pleasant  hour. 

Ah,  me,  those  days  and  hours  are  gone,  never  to 
return  again,  and  I,  sitting  now  alone  in  the  desolate 
room,  with  ray  heart  filled  with  the  memories  of  those 
blessed  times,  realize  in  all  my  sorrow  and  loneliness 
the  brighter  and  happier  times  she  now  is  having,  my 
friend  translated. 

Yolande  was  a  passionate  lover  of  books,  and  was 
an  eager  student  of  them  all  her  life.  Possessing 
keen  analytical  powers,  she  could  select  the  best  and 
choicest  portions,  as  she  read,  jotting  down  in  note- 
book the  sentences  that  pleased  her  most.  Shake- 
spere  was  her  favorite  author,  and  she  would  never 


A    YOUNG    WOMAN  JOURNALIST.  29 

tire  of  repeating  over  special  passages  which  had  cer- 
tain charms  of  expression  in  them.  She  would  take 
several  parts  in  some  one  favorite  pla}-,  and  portray 
them  in  a  most  realistic  manner.  Burns  and  Scott 
were  both  treasured  bards,  v/hile  the  Brownings,  hus- 
band and  wife,  she  never  tired  of  reading.  In  the 
earlier  years  of  our  friendship  I  was  impressed  with 
the  decided  journalistic  talent  which  Yolande  dis- 
played, and  some  of  the  writings  of  those  years  show 
the  careful  reading  and  study  which  had  been  given 
in  the  topics  treated.  Macaulay's  Essays,  The  Re- 
public of  Plato,  Duties  of  Women,  Drummond's 
Natural  Law  in  the  Spiritual  World,  The  English 
Language,  Les  Miserables,  Carlyle's  History  of  the 
French  Revolution,  How  to  Win,  Savonarola  and 
kindred  books,  show  by  their  worn  appearance  how 
well  they  were  read.  She  was  a  great  admirer  of 
Longfellow,  Whittier  and  Bryant  and  our  own  Mary 
Lowe  Dickinson  ;  indeed,  poetry  was  perhaps  more 
loved  by  her  than  prose,  for  she  enjoyed  with  her 
whole  rich  nature  the  music  of  the  poets,  espe- 
cially when  it  touched  upon  the  deep  things  of 
life  ;  yet  she  had  a  keen  sense  of  the  humorous,  and 
fully  appreciated  James  Whitcomb  Riley  and  other 
dialect  writers.  Her  spiritual  books  were  many 
in  number.  I  have  her  well-worn  copies  of  The 
Diary  of  an  Old  Soul,  scored  and  marked,  The  Faith 
that  Makes  Faithful,  The  Imitation  of  Christ,  As  It 
Is  in  Heaven,  Little  Pilgrim,  Edelweiss,  Miss  Haver- 
gal's  Poems,  Phillips  Brooks'  Sermons,  The  Higher 
Life,  and  many  others  of  like  character. 

The  spiritual  part  of  my  friend's  nature  was  one  of 


30  A    YOUNG    WOMAN  JOURNALIST. 

great  sweetness  and  richness,  but  one  that  while  on 
earth  was  never  satisfied.  Her  Bible  was  lined  and 
interlined  with  thoughts  which  she  had  jotted  down 
on  favorite  passages,  and  the  heaviest  scored  ones  are 
those  which  speak  of  the  heavenly  visions.  She  was 
one  of  the  beloved  of  the  Master,  not  wholly  satisfied 
until  she  had  heard  Him  speaking  to  her. 

One  of  her  favorite  pastimes  was  to  read  aloud, 
and  to  me  it  was  a  perfect  delight  to  sit  still  and 
watch  the  varying  changes  on  her  face  and  hear  her 
rich,  melodious  voice,  reading  some  article  or  book. 
Or  we  would  have  a  discussion  on  some  portion  of 
the  subject  read,  and  thus  try  to  give  to  one  another 
the  different  impressions  made  upon  our  minds,  and 
keej)  ourselves  in  accord  with  all  the  work  of  the 
times. 

Yolande  had  always  loved  and  honored,  in  a 
high  degree,  the  great  leader  of  the  white-ribbon 
forces,  Miss  Frances  E.  Willard,  so  that  when  she 
came  to  live  with  us,  another  loyal,  true  and  devoted 
admirer  of  our  beloved  President  was  added  to  our 
circle.  Miss  Willard  had  a  wonderful  influence  over 
her  life,  a  strong  bond  of  love,  appreciation  and 
understanding  being  between  them.  Of  the  many 
memories  of  our  home  life  that  go  trooping  through 
my  mind,  none  are  so  sweet  as  the  remembrance  of 
how  these  two,  the  elder  and  the  younger  comrade, 
would  sit  together  in  the  "Den,"  a  room  which 
Yolande  had  helped  to  beautify.  Miss  Willard  sitting 
in  her  favorite  rocking-chair,  her  friend  opposite, 
with  papers  and  books  scattered  around,  while  they 
planned  articles  for   The  Union  Signal,  one  of  whose 


A   YOUNG    WOMAN   JOURNALIST.  3 1 

editors  Miss  Ames  had  become  soon  after  taking  up 
her  residence  at  the  Cottage,  or  read  over  some  manu- 
script or  talked  over  the  general  work.  Occasionally 
a  peal  of  laughter  would  ring  out,  for  both  of  these 
friends  had  a  keen  sense  of  the  ludicrous  and 
were  quick  to  catch  the  humorous  side  of  things. 
Miss  Willard  as  a  conversationalist  has  no  equal,  and 
it  was  at  these  times  that  Yolande  gained  her  great- 
,  est  inspiration.  The  spiritual  nature  of  my  beloved 
was  of  the  rarest  type,  it  had  deep  undertones, 
and  as  a  rose  which  the  sun  kisses,  opens  and  lets 
the  warmth  and  sunlight  into  its  very  heart — so 
when  Yolande  and  Miss  Willard  talked  of  the  ' '  deep 
things"  of  Ood,  did  her  spiritual  nature  grow  and 
enlarge,  and  one  listener  of  those  talks  always  felt  at 
such  times  that  she  was  on  holy  ground. 

The  reasoning  faculties  of  Yolande  were  con- 
tinually called  into  play,  because  of  the  questions 
which  her  loved  teacher  was  ever  putting  to  her, 
calling  out  arguments  which  showed  her  trend  and 
breadth  of  thought.  Miss  Willard  was  constantly 
giving  Yolande  opportunities  for  mental  and  spiritual 
growth,  putting  her  in  the  way  of  securing  such  helps 
as  would  polish  still  more  the  fine-grained  oak  of  her 
character.  A  hearty  co-operation  and  approval  was 
always  given  by  this  great  friend  of  humanity,  to 
plans  which  Yolande  presented,  which  would  in  their 
workings  advance  the  great  causes  of  God  and  re- 
form. No  day  was  complete,  when  Miss  Willard 
was  at  home,  without  her  going  up  to  the  '"■  Den  "  to 
seethe  "Chieftain,"  no  task  too  arduous  to  perform 
M  she  desired  it,  no  praise  too  great  to  be  given  to  the 


32  A    YOUNG    WOMAN    JOURNALIST. 

woman  she  so  gladly  followed  ;  love,  loyalty,  devotion 
on  Yolande's  part,  love,  appreciation,  trust  on  Miss 
Willard's. 

Dear  Madame  Willard  was  to  my  friend  a  great 
sheet  anchor,  for  Yolande  received  from  her  the  sweet- 
est lessons  of  hope  and  trust.  Often  I  would  miss  the 
dear  one,  and  going  into  the  parlor  would  find  Madame 
Willard  and  herself  talking  over  some  passages  of 
Scripture,  or,  perhaps,  Yolande  reading  to  her,  or,  it 
might  be,  they  were  earnestly  discussing  some  point 
of  belief.  Those  were  deep  draughts  of  spiritual 
waters  which  she  quaffed  there — and  they  gave  her  new 
strength  to  push  forward  and  onward  to  the  heavenly 
city,  whose  beauties  she  knows  all  about  now ;  whose 
mysteries  she  has  solved  and  understands  ;  and  I,  who 
am  left  behind,  find  that  the  greatest  and  sweetest  con- 
solation I  have  had  comes  also  from  Madame  Willard, 
who  has  helped  to  steady  my  barque  when,  in  the  fear- 
ful storm  of  sorrow  and  loneliness  which  has  come  on 
me,  the  timbers  creaked  and  the  anchor  was  well-nigh 
torn  from  its  moorings. 

The  artist  instinct  was  strong  in  Yolande,  and  she 
was  quick  to  detect  all  incongruous  elements,  and  with 
a  single  touch  would  bring  out  of  what  was  before 
confusion,  harmony  in  color  and  arrangement.  She 
was  a  passionate  lover  of  flowers,  reveling  in  their 
fragrance  and  richness,  their  beauty  being  reflected 
in  her  own  lovely  face.  At  so  many  of  our  little 
gatherings  did  her  deft  fingers  arrange  flowers,  and 
glasses,  and  the  dainty  little  bric-a-brac  of  the  house 
and  table  furnishings,  making  things  look  like  fairy- 
land. 


A    YOUNG   WOMAN  JOURNALIST.  33 

She  visited  Europe  in  1890,  being  gone  for  months, 
and  satisfied  some  of  her  longings  for  the  beautiful,  in 
the  scenes  she  visited,  the  paintings  and  statues  she 
looked  on.  While  in  England  she  became  acquainted 
with  that  gracious,  royal  woman,  Isabel,  Eady  Henry 
Somerset,  who  afterwards  became  another  strong  fac- 
tor in  her  life,  giving  her  love  and  trust  which  lasted 
until  her  death.  In  her  letters,  and  on  her  return, 
Yolande  was  full  of  praise  for  this  consecrated,  beauti- 
ful character — recognizing  the  fact  that  she  was  a 
great  leader,  whose  heart  was  full  of  a  desire  to  make 
the  world  better,  and  bring  it  nearer  to  Christ. 

Yolande  was  unqualifiedly  trusted  by  her  friends — 
her  gentleness  and  true  heart  making  for  her  friends 
by  the  score,  and  she  stood  surrounded  by  as  true  and 
loving  ones  as  ever  a  woman  had  :  Mrs.  Matilda  B. 
Carse,  who  induced  Yolande  to  enter  the  journalistic 
field  ;  Miss  Esther  Pugh,  our  National  W.  C.  T.  U. 
treasurer ;  Misses  West,  Sudduth,  Guernsey,  and 
Mrs.  Andrew,  her  associates  in  the  office  ;  Anna  Gor- 
don, Kate  Jackson,  Miss  Scovil,  Alice  Briggs,  Ruby 
Gilbert,  and  others,  who  came  into  almost  daily  contact 
with  her,  were  among  those  she  loved  and  clung  to. 

She  had  never  lost  by  death  any  friend  or  rela- 
tive to  whom  she  was  greatly  attached,  and  once  when 
speaking  to  me  on  this  subject  she  said  :  "  Helen,  I 
have  never  known  what  real  sorrow  is,  the  winds 
have  not  blown  roughly  on  me  ;  why  should  I  not 
thank  God  unceasingly  because  of  what  He  has  done 
for  me  ?  "  And  I,  sitting  in  the  stillness  of  our  sepa- 
ration, thank  the  dear  Father  that  her  life  was  so 
sunny  and  full  of  richness  ;   that  she  had  never  faced 


34  A    VOUNG   WOMAX    JOURNALIST. 

its  Strong,  rough  phases,  but  that,  sheltered  and 
shielded  by  loving  hearts  and  strong  hands,  she  had 
escaped  much  of  its  agony  and  heart  break. 

And  so  our  lives  ran  on — six  years  of  blessed  joy 
and  love,  one  with  another  ;  years  when  we  met  and 
conquered  difficulties  together — when  the  battles  of 
life  were  fought  out  by  each  other's  side.  It  was  a 
loving  comradeship,  a  daily  going  in  and  out,  no 
separation— one  purpose — one  life-work.  But  foi 
some  good  reason,  which  God  one  day  will  reveal, 
the  end  came.  In  Boston,  attending  the  National 
W.  C.  T.  U.  Convention  of  1891,  my  friend  was 
taken  ill  and  we  went  to  one  of  the  hospitals  for 
treatment.  In  our  room  there,  together,  we  lived  some 
of  the  happiest  days  of  our  happy  life.  We  were 
both  tired  and  worn,  as  the  work  during  the  last  year 
had  been  unusually  severe  and  perplexing,  so  that 
Yolande  spoke  for  me  when  she  said  :  "  Helen,  I  am 
glad  we  two  are  going  to  be  shut  in  together  ;  what 
a  good  time  v/e  shall  have,  only  you  and  I."  The 
days  went  on  and  to  all  human  appearance  my  loved 
one  was  getting  better.  How  we  talked  arid  planned 
for  the  future — how,  in  the  quiet  and  stillness,  we 
again  entered  deeper  into  one  another's  lives  and 
became  closer  united  in  our  life-work.  That  last 
day — how  we  thought  of  the  "home  going"  which 
we  hoped  soon  was  to  be  ours — the  desires  of  our 
lives  grew  stronger  —  before  God  we  reconsecrated 
our  lives  to  His  service  —  "It  will  be  victory,  Helen, ' ' 
she  often  said,  keeping  in  mind  a  song  called  "Vic- 
tory "  which  had  been  a  favorite  one  in  the  Conven- 
tion.    And    the    niarht    came    on.    and   the   dreaded 


A   YOUNG    WOMAN    JOURNALIST.  35 

Presence  of  Death  listened,  while  we,  unconscious  of 
his  nearness,  talked  of  life ;  soon,  with  but  little 
warning,  I  knew  that  my  friend  was  leaving  me,  and 
soon  I  knew,  with  an  agony  of  heart,  that  she  ivas 
not,  for  the  Master  had  come  and  claimed  His  own. 
Then  something  in  me,  also,  died. 

We  dressed  her  in  fair  robes,  kind  friends  assist- 
ing, and  then  they  said  to  me,  "  Come,  and  see  her." 
And  I  went  to  my  friend,  and,  taking  her  in  my  arms, 
saw  upon  her  still  face  the  glorious  triumph  of  a  risen 
soul,  and  through  my  grief  came  these  words  from 
her  :  ' '  Helen,  it  is  the  victory  ;  I  am  satisfied,  for  I  am 
awake  and  in  His  likeness."  I  carried  her  home  to 
our  loved  Rest  Cottage  and  there  with  her  in  the 
midst,  with  Miss  Willard,  and  other  dear  ones,  we 
held  our  simple,  loving  service.  The  flowers  which 
she  so  dearly  loved,  were  in  profusion  in  the  "sanc- 
tum "  of  dear  Anna  Gordon,  where  my  friend  was 
lying,  and  a  sweet  smile  of  content  seemed  on  her 
face  because  she  was  in  the  home  that  she  loved  so 
well,  and  with  those  whom  she  loved  so  devotedly. 
The  next  day,  with  the  song, "  God  be  with  you  till 
we  meet  again,"  ringing  out  on  the  morning  air,  as 
for  the  last  time  she  left  Rest  Cottage,  I  carried  her 
to  her  home  in  Streator,  and  stood  beside  the  grave 
which  contained  only  the  body  of  my  comrade,  and 
knew  that  for  me  during  all  the  rest  of  life  the  path- 
way will  be  lonely,  because  I  must  walk  it  without  her. 

With  the  ever-present  memory  of  our  friendship 
on  earth,  with  the  remembrance  of  that  noble,  Christ- 
like life,  with  her  beautiful  face,  perfect  in  feature, 
constantly  in   my  heart,   I   can   say,  not  "I    had  a 


36 


A   YOUNG   WOMAN   JOURNALIST. 


friend,"  but,  "I  have  a  friend,"  whose  life  is  going 
on  and  on— sunny  it  was,  here,  glorious  light  is  it 
there. 

"  God  keeps  a  niche 
In  Heaven  to  hold  our  idols  ;  and  albeit 
He  brake  them  to  our  faces  and  denied 
That  our  close  kisses  should  impair  their  white, 
I  know  we  shall  behold  them  raised,  complete. 
The  dust  swept  from  their  beauty— glorified 
New  Memnons  singing  in  the  great  God-light." 


In  ti)e  Wioxk^R^Mn  2MorlU. 


MARY   ALLEN   WEST. 


ISS    WIIvLARD    writes    me,     "  Lady 
Henry  Somerset  and  I  are  preparing 
a  book  in  memory  of  Yolande  ;    we 
are   especially    desirous   of    knowing 
those  things  about  her  which  you  know 
"M      the  best ;  the  spirit  and  temper  she  showed 
^  in  the  ofl&ce,   the   ingenious   methods   by 

which  she  sought  to  build  up  the  paper,  the  fun,  the 
pathos,  any  and  every  thing  that  comes  to  your  mind 
as  helpful  to  young  women  journalists." 

Could  I  portray  what  Miss  Ames  was  in  the  office, 
as  she  stands  in  my  own  mind,  it  would  be  both  an 
inspiration  and  a  model  to  all  young  journalists.  But 
that  is  impossible;  hers  was  a  pervading  presence, 
like  the  fragrance  of  mignonette,  recognized  every- 
where, yet  difficult  to  fix  and  analyze. 

Had  she  exercised  her  gift  of  writing,  instead  of 
the  higher  one  of  inspiring  authorship  in  others,  we 
should  have  her  published  writings  from  which  to 
draw  something  tangible  to  present  to  those  who  were 
never  blessed  by  knowing  her,  and  thus  show  them 
what  her   work  was.     But  this  we  have  not.      Hei 


38  A    YOUNG    WOMAN   JOURNALIST. 

great  diffidence  about  writing,  was  ever  a  mystery  to 
me,  nor  can  I  even  now  account  for  it  ;  that  she  could 
write  admirably,  her  private  letters  and  occasional  pa- 
pers read  before  literary  societies  abundantly  testify  ; 
but  she  shrank  from  writing  anything  to  appear  in 
print  like  a  diffident  school-girl.  It  seemed  as  if 
her  life,  like  that  of  many  silent  poets,  was  enriched 
and  fructified  by  what  she  did  not  write,  the  unuttered 
power  and  pathos  which,  restrained  within  her  own 
soul,  kept  it  in  touch  with  noble  and  beautiful  thought 
everywhere.  This,  it  may  be,  was  the  divining-rod 
which  led  her  so  unerringly  to  discover  unsuspected 
wells  within  others'  beings. 

But  I  must  try  to  analj^ze,  that  I  may  show  you 
what  was  ' '  the  spirit  and  temper  she  showed  in  the 
office." 

First,  it  seems  to  me,  was  her  intense  desire  after 
excellence,  to  do  everything  in  the  best  possible  way. 
This  was  displayed  in  whatever  she  did.  One  of  her 
early  teachers  told  me  only  a  few  days  ago  that  this 
was  the  one  characteristic  which  most  impressed  him 
when  she  was  his  pupil  ;  she  was  never  satisfied  with 
doing  any  but  the  very  best  work. 

Closely  allied  to  this,  was  her  teachableness,  her 
eagerness  to  learn  the  more  excellent  way,  let  the 
teacher  be  whom  it  might.  During  the  five  years 
we  worked  together,  I  do  not  believe  there  was  a  day 
when  we  were  both  in  the  office,  in  which  she  did  not 
come  to  me  with  the  question,  "Do  you  think  this 
would  be  a  good  plan?"  or,  "Would  you  arrange 
this  so?"  At  an  editorial  banquet,  she  quietly  drew 
from  all  the  leading  editors  present  their  views  and 


A    YOUNG    WOMAN  JOURNALIST.  39 

ways  of  working  in  a  specific  direction  she  was  at 
that  time  investigating.  Yet  so  adroitly  was  this 
done,  that  I  doubt  if  one  of  those  grave  and  reverend 
seigniors  suspected  he  was  giving  the  bright-faced 
young  woman  the  very  information  of  which  she  was 
then  in  search. 

Yet  hers  was  no  passive  receptivity ;  she  did  not 
simply  absorb,  but  culled,  adapted,  digested.  "She 
asked  other  folks'  advice  and  then  did  as  she  had  a 
mind  to,"  an  admirable  thing  to  do,  by  the  way,  as  it 
implies  the  power  of  discrimination,  which  she  pos- 
sessed in  eminent  degree.  I  never  knew  one  whose 
judgment  was  more  trustworthy. 

Her  quick  and  keen  appreciation  of  the  demands 
of  the  times,  developed  by  the  ever-varying  conditions 
of  our  work,  was  another  characteristic  which  marked 
her  a  born  journalist.  She  realized  just  what  was 
needed  ;  her  rapid  reading  of  the  morning  paper  on 
the  cars  often  brought  her  to  my  desk  with  the  sug- 
gestion, "We  need  an  editorial  on  that."  And  her 
constant,  watchful  outlook  over  the  wide  field  kept 
her  full  of  plans  for  the  consideration  of  this  subject 
or  that. 

Instinctively  she  seemed  to  know  the  right  one  to 
present  the  desired  phase  of  the  subject,  and  her 
magic  wand  drew  out  clear  waters  from  what,  to  me, 
had  proved  flinty  rock.  Making  all  due  allowance 
for  the  fact  that  when  she  took  charge  of  its  contrib- 
uted department.  The  Union  Signal  had  grown  out  of 
its  experimental  stage  when  first-class  writers  looked 
askance  at  it,  into  a  world-wide  circulation  which 
commanded    their    respect,    and    that     its    finances 


40  A   YOUNG    WOMAN  JOURNALIST. 

allowed  it  to  pay  for  contributions,  an  impossibility 
in  its  earlier  days,  there  still  remains  a  wide  margin 
which  must  be  credited  to  her  winning  power  in 
securing  contributions.  Nobody  with  a  heart  could 
refuse  her,  especially  if  a  personal  interview  allowed 
the  winsomeness  of  her  face  to  add  its  attractive 
power  to  that  of  voice  or  pen.  This  is  the  testi- 
mony given  over  and  over  again  by  the  busiest 
writers  in  the  land,  "We  could  not  refuse  Miss 
Ames." 

Her  power  as  a  letter  writer,  especially  along  this 
line,  was  exceptional  ;  like  all  her  powers,  this  was 
assiduously  and  conscientiously  cultivated.  She 
carefully  studied,  not  only  the  subjects  she  wished 
presented,  and  reasons  why  the  ones  she  had  chosen 
were  the  very  ones  to  present  them,  but  she  studied 
quite  as  carefully  the  tastes  and  dispositions  of  those 
to  whom  she  applied,  and  carefully  adapted  her 
appeal  to  these  tastes  and  dispositions.  All  this  was 
done  in  perfect  accord  with  the  underlying  stratum 
of  her  character,  pure  genuineness.  She  never  flat- 
tered nor  fawned  ;  what  she  said  came  straight  from 
the  heart,  a  heart  instructed  by  a  wise,  discriminating 
head. 

She  was  original  and  suggestive  ;  she  originated 
the  departments  of  Illustrated  Biographies  and 
Queen's  Gardens,  as  well  as  many  minor  improve- 
ments. She  studied  the  style  of  leading  journals  to 
gain  suggestions  for  our  own  ;  she  was  very  particular 
about  the  make-up  of  her  pages,  that  they  might  look 
attractive,  and  by  proper  position  give  each  article  its 
due  weight. 


A    YOUNG   WOMAN   JOURNALIST.  4I 

"Seeketh  not  her  own,  is  not  puffed  up,"  was 
pre-eminently  true  of  Miss  Ames.  Jealous  of  herself, 
lest  any  imperfect  work  should  come  from  her  hand, 
she  was  jealous  of  no  one  else,  but  rejoiced  in  all  the 
praise  given  to  others.  She  never  sought  it  for  her- 
self ;  for  her,  ' '  the  end  crowned  the  work ' '  ;  she 
needed  not  the  praise  of  others  to  complete  her  joy  in 
work  well  done.  A  sharp  critic  upon  her  own  work, 
she  naturally  desired  excellence  in  the  work  of  those 
associated  with  her;  but  if  ever,  for  a  moment,  ' '  make- 
up "  and  "  proof  reader  "  thought  her  exacting,  they 
were  soon  brought  to  see  that  her  way  was  the  best 
way  and  that  improved  results  more  than  compen- 
sated for  the  extra  trouble.  Thus  she  kept  up  a  high 
standard  of  excellence  in  the  mechanical,  as  well  as 
the  literary  execution  of  the  paper.  A  sweet  reason- 
ableness pervaded  all  her  conduct  with  employes, 
and  endeared  her  to  them. 

Never,  we  believe,  was  more  sincere  mourning 
among  employes  when  an  editor  died,  than  among 
ours,  when  Miss  Ames  was  called  up  higher.  She 
had  been  as  a  loving  sister  to  them,  unobtrusively 
entering  into  their  sorrows,  rejoicing  in  their  suc- 
cesses, genuinely  glad  for  all  that  made  them  happy. 
Her  coming  brought  sunshine  into  the  darkest  day, 
her  quiet,  cheery  laugh  was  sweet  music  which  no 
clatter  of  machinery  could  drown. 

No  picture  of  Miss  Ames  in  the  office  would  be 
complete  without  the  lights  thrown  by  her  inter- 
course with  visitors.  No  matter  how  busy  or  tired 
she  was,  nor  how  prosy  or  tiresome  the  visitor  might 
be.  her  sweet  Christian  courtesy  never  failed.    When, 


42  A   YOUXG   WOMAN   JOURNALIST. 

as  was  more  frequently  the  case,  the  caller  was  one 
of  "our  own,"  her  whole  nature  seemed  to  expand 
in  pleasant  welcome,  making  that  hour  a  memorable 
one  to  the  visitor  ever  after. 

There  were  depths  in  her  nature  no  pen-plummet 
can  sound  ;  confidences  of  the  sanctum  too  sacred  for 
public  gaze.  Bright,  winning,  joyous  as  she  was, 
hers  was  an  intensely  sensitive  soul ;  she  could  not 
have  possessed  the  power  she  did  had  this  not  been 
so — and  it  could  not  help  being  often  wounded.  A 
cold  or  harsh  word  would  bring  the  tears  into  those 
beautiful  eyes  and  the  quiver  to  those  expressive  lips. 

As  the  weeks  and  months  passed  on,  she  became 
more  and  more  full}'  Christ-possessed  ;  no  other  word 
expresses  the  power  which  came  to  rule  that  young 
life.  She  talked  very  little  of  the  change  her  soul 
was  undergoing,  but  we  all  felt  it.  Such  rapid  spirit- 
ual development  is  rarely  witnessed  ;  it  seemed  like 
the  growth  of  vegetation  in  Southern  California, 
where  a  night  of  mist  and  rain  and  a  day  of  sunshine 
bring  lilies  and  roses  into  full,  perfected  bloom. 
Her  asphodels  were  full-bloomed  when  the  boatman 
came. 


TRIBUTH-S    OF    CO-LABORERS. 

Our  Yolande  had  two  sides.  All  great  characters 
have.  She  was  not  "  two-sided,"  but  the  world  knew 
her  in  one  way,  and  her  intimate  friends  in  another. 
To  those  v/ho  saw  her  but  casually,  she  was  sanguine, 
light-hearted,  vivacious.     To  those  who  were  in  close 


A   YOUXG   WOMAN  JOURNALIST.  43 

daily  contact,  and  could  see  the  depths  and  heights 
of  her  heart's  purposes,  she  was  strangely  serious, 
weighted  down  with  the  solemnity  of  life  and  her  own 
vital  relation  to  it. 

With  ideals  high  as  heaven  for  others,  as  well  as 
for  herself,  the  shortcomings  of  none  pained  her  so 
deeply  as  her  own.  Her  judgment  was  tempered 
with  a  charity  most  rare.  Discriminating  in  her 
praise,  she  was  not  slow  to  speak  her  gratitude  and 
appreciation. 

Winsomeness  was  her  chief  characteristic.  Irre- 
sistible in  her  pleading,  it  was  well  that  no  taint  of 
selfishness  or  personal  ambition  marred  her  plans  and 
thwarted  her  life's  purposes.  Her  beaming  face 
brighteued  every  darkened  room,  and  her  matchless 
smile  and  musical  voice,  so  sweet  in  tone  and  strong 
in  revealed  character,  together  with  her  keen  percep- 
tion and  ready  wit,  bridged  many  a  real  difiBculty  and 
dispelled  many  an  imaginary  one.  She  put  fear  to 
flight  and  crowned  doubt  with  hope.  Never  too 
much  absorbed  in  her  own  heavy  duties  to  lend  a 
sympathetic  ear  to  others,  her  counsel  was  always 
sought  in  a  perplexit}'  and  never  did  she  fail. 

Purity  of  aim,  breadth  of  vision,  directness  of 
attack  and  enthusiasm  of  execution  marked  her 
every   act. 

Beautiful  we  called  her,  and  beautiful  she  was, 
but  since  the  spirit  has  left  the  temple,  we  know  that 
it  was  the  soul  that  lighted  that  face  and  gave  it  its 
power  and  beauty. 

"  For  of  the  soule  the  bodie  forme  doth  take  ; 
For  soule  is  forme,  and  doth  the  bodie  make."' 


44  A   YOUNG   WOMAN  JOURNAIJST. 

Hail  and  farewell,  beloved  I  We  would  not  have 
it  otherwise.  Earth  is  poorer  for  your  going,  but 
heaven  is  richer.     Once  more,  farewell  ! 

Associate  Editor. 


ONLY   AT   REST. 

What,  dead? 
When  we  loved  her  so, 
And  her  heart  replied. 
Pulsing  warm  with  Love's  glowing  tide? 

What,   dead  ? 
In  the  flush  of  morn, 
Her  life-sky  bright, 
Dawnlight  darkened  to  sudden  night  i* 

What,  dead  ? 
E'en  the  generous  hands 
Forever  still, 
Answering  not  to  life's  quick  thrill  ? 

Not  dead  ! 
Faith  never  dies ; 
Truth  lives  for  aye. 
In  the  golden  glow  of  the  perfect  day. 

Not  dead ! 
Love  can  not  die , 
Still  she  is  ours, 
Only  at  rest  in  the  heart  of  the  flowers. 


A    YOUNG   WOMAN  JOURNALIST.  45 

Only  at  rest, 
And  loving  us  yet, 
With  love  that  shall  never  know 
Change  or  regret. 

Editor  Books  and  Leaflets. 


Yolande  !  at  the  mention  of  that  name  one  of  the 
fairest  and  dearest  faces  I  have  ever  looked  upon  on 
earth  comes  before  me.  I  see  eyes,  honest,  large  and 
loving — once  looked  into,  you  could  never  doubt  the 
owner.  And  the  lips,  so  sensitive,  tender  and  tremu- 
lous, what  a  world  of  sweetness  gathered  about  them. 
Who  could  resist  her  pleadings !— when  such  lips 
spoke  she  won  all  hearts.  Her  aim  was  always  high, 
and  every  undertaking  succeeded  that  she  enlisted  in, 
because  she  gave  herself  unselfishly  to  it  with  such 
enthusiasm  and  honest,  earnest  work  that  success 
was  inevitable.  A  character  more  rounded  and  beau- 
tiful I  have  never  known.  She  was  ripe  for  the 
heavenly  home. 

Sweet  young  comrade  !  the  tears  rush  unbidden  to 
my  eyes  as  I  think  of  the  poverty  of  the  earth  without 
you — but  surely  heaven  seems  richer,  nearer,  brighter 
and  more  to  be  desired  for  your  going.  Yolande 
Ames,  at  thirty,  had  lived  longer  and  accomplished 
more  than  most  women  at  threescore  years  and  ten. 
We  must  remember  that  high  aim,  not  years,  is  liv- 
ing. Her  life  and  memory  should  be  kept  in  loving 
remembrance  by  our  young  women. 

ffiatifba  B.  €ari?c. 

rresident  W.  T.  P.  A. 


46  A   YOUNG   WOMAN   JOURNALIST. 

And  Julia  Ames  is  dead  ?  How  can  it  be  ?  The 
first  impulse  said,  We  can  not  consent  to  it.  Why, 
only  a  few  weeks  ago  she  came  to  tell  me  that  friends 
wanted  her  to  engage  in  other  activities,  and  I  ex- 
claimed:  "No;  we  can  not  spare  you  !"  And  now 
we  must,  although  unreconciled. 

Of  all  the  workers  in  our  busy  hive,  she  could 
least  be  spared.  The  sunshine  of  her  happy  life  shed 
a  radiance  that  was  everywhere  a  benediction.  Her 
very  presence  was  helpful.  In  perplexity,  she  was 
clear-headed  and  sound  in  judgment ;  in  taste,  dis- 
criminating and  wise  ;  in  trouble,  cheery  and  helpful ; 
in  labor,  self-sacrificing  and  faithful  ;  in  service,  true 
and  loyal ;  in  friendship,  devoted.  Her  Christian 
principles  permeated  her  life  and  were  uplifting  to 
others. 

Her  memory  clings   to  us   as  the  fragrance  of  a 
choice  blossom  from  the  garden  of  our  God. 
3annv  1^.  Kac?fa[f. 

Business  Manager  W.  T.  P.  .\. 


A  tribute  to  Yolande  ?  She  needs  it  not.  Word 
of  mine  can  not  add  to  the  precious  memories  of  her, 
filling  all  hearts  here,  can  not  add  to  her  happiness  — 
there.  My  one  thought  of  her  is — s/ic  lives — glori- 
ously, exultantly,  triumphantly — lives. 

Yolande  had  much  in  her  earth-life;  she  had,  I 
believe,  her  heart's  desire  in  entering  the   heavenly 


A   YOUXG   WOMAX  JOURNALIST.  47 

life,  for,  with  Mrs.  Barbauld,  I  think  she  would  have 
said  : 

"Life  !     *     *     *     'Tis  hard  to  part  when  friends  are  dear, 
Perhaps  'twiU  cost  a  sigh,  a  tear  ; 
So  steal  away,  give  little  warniug, 
Choose  thiue  owu  time  ; 

Say  not  'good-night,'  but  in  some  brighter  clime 
Bid  me  'good-morning.'  " 

But  in  the  new  life,  Yolande  has  all  things, — all 
purity,  all  knowledge,  all  service, — has  the  free, 
abounding  life  for  which  she  longed.  In  that  life  as 
in  this, 

"  Life's  more  than  breath,  and  the  quick  rouad  of  blood, 
It  is  a  great  spirit  and  a  busy  heart," 

and  so  Yolande  lives  and  is  "  satisfied." 

"  We  hve  in  deeds,  not  years  ;  in  thoughts,  not  breaths  ; 
la  feeHngs,  not  in  figures  on  a  dial. 
We  should  count  time  by  heart  throbs.     He  most  lives, 
Who  thinks  most — feels  the  noblest -acts  the  best." 

Thus  reckoning  time,  Yolande's  life,  always  im- 
pelled, toward  the  highest,  the  purest,  the  best,  was 
not  short,  for  she  lived,  loved,  suffered,  vdth  all  the 
intensity  of  a  strong,  deep  nature. 

"  The  coward,  and  the  small  in  soul,  scarce  do  live  ; 
One  generous  feeling— one  great  thought— one  deed 
Of  good,  ere  night,  would  make  life  longer  seem 
Than  if  each  year  might  number  a  thousand  days, — 
Spent  as  is  this  by  nations  of  mankind. 

******* 


48  A   VOTING   WOMAN  JOURNALIST. 

Life's  but  a  means  unto  an  end — that  end. 
Beginning,  mean  and  end  to  all  things— (iod. 
The  dead  have  all  the  glory  of  the  world," 

(Those  dead  to  self,  I  think  the  poet  means.) 

"Why  will  we  live  and  not  be  glorious? 
We  never  can  be  deathless — ////  we  die.'' 

So  living,  so  dying,  may  we  go   on  to  greet  the 
friend  who  has  gone  on  before, 

"Just  to  learn  the  Heaven  for  'welcome  ' 
To  that  bright  and  blessed  shore." 

Cashier  W.  T.  P.  A. 


My  pen  pauses  long  and  reverently  before  it  fixes 
in  black  and  white  a  tribute  that  is  heart-deep,  and 
would  be,  if  it  could,  complete  and  fitting. 

It  is  as  one  of  Miss  Ames'  assistants  in  the  edi- 
torial rooms,  that  I  wish  to  write  a  testimony  that,  do 
the  best  I  will,  must  fall  far  short  of  the  truth. 

I  loved  her  first  when  I  sav/ her  first  —  the  day 
she  bade  me,  a  stranger  in  Chicago,  w^elcome,  in  that 
gracious,  heartsome  way,  peculiarl}'  her  own,  that 
made  one  feel  truly  wcU-comc. 

I  was  her  stenographer,  and  even  when  thor- 
oughly tired  it  did  me  good  when  she  would  say, 
"  Can  you  write  e?idlcss  letters  for  me  to-day  ?  "  Her 
correspondents  all  over  the  world  know  what  those 
letters  were  like  — I  only  wish  they  could  know  how 


A   YOUNG   WOMAN  JOURNALIST.  49 

they  were  written.  It  is  one  thing  to  write  always 
kindly,  generously,  patiently  —  another  thing  to  feel 
the  kindness,  generosity  and  patience,  when  before 
one  is  a  desk  almost  hidden  by  the  ever-incoming 
work  ;  when  the  dictation  is  given  amid  almost  count- 
less interruptions,  or  with  a  body  and  mind  wearied 
well-nigh  beyond  endurance.  But  it  used  to  give  me 
a  feeling  curiously  like  triumph  to  watch  Miss  Ames 
at  such  times  and  never  witness  a  failure.  The 
phrases  oftenest  on  her  lips,  when  we  were  shut  up 
together  over  a  bewildering  mass  of  letters,  were  such 
as  these  :  ' '  We  must  write  this  letter  our  very  pretty- 
most  "  ;  "Help  me,  dear,  to  say  this  just  rigid; 
I  never  want  to  say  'no'  unkindly";  "I  wish  I 
had  time  to  write  better  letters."  Sometimes  work 
crowded,  so  she  could  not  even  dictate  some  of  the 
mere  business  letters  and  would  intrust  them  to  me, 
saying:  "Be  kind,  — that  is  the  best  way,  you 
know."  Several  times,  upon  examining  letters  thus 
left  to  me,  she  returned  one  or  more  with  the  gentle 
criticism,  "You  have  said  it  all,  but  I  am  a  bit 
afraid  it  will  not  read  the  way  we  mean  it.  Can't  you 
take  the  abruptness  out  ?  ' '  All  this,  not  for  praise 
or  notice,  but  from  the  innate,  gentle  womanliness, 
which  would  not  wound  the  remotest  stranger  by  any 
possibility. 

We  understand  people  better,  somehow,  when 
they  have  passed  into  that  ' '  next  room ' '  none  enter 
save  at  the  bidding  of  the  King,  and  I  think  now 
I  read  deeper  into  the  underlying  motives  that 
made  Miss  Ames  such  a  painstaking  letter-writer. 
Was  it  not  because  she  realized  that  written  words, 


50  A    YOUNG   WOMAN   JOURNALIST. 

after  all,  are  living  things,  and  must  touch  living 
hearts  for  weal  or  woe  ?  I  could  write  a  thousand 
minute  instances  in  which  I  read  those  shining  traits 
that  made  her  so  lovable  and  so  beloved.  As  I  sat 
at  ray  desk  in  our  reception-room  I  used  to  pause  in 
my  work  sometimes  because  of  the  charm  in  her 
manner  as  she  met  callers,  or  "because  of  the  beauty  in 
her  voice  as  she  read  aloud  to  her  oflfice-mate. 

Personally,  I  have  many  a  lovely  deed  for  which 
to  hold  her  in  long  and  tender  memory.  Yet  I  never 
thanked  her — she  made  it  impossible.  There  are 
some  people  it  is  easy  to  thank  for  deeds  and  gifts  ; 
but  are  there  not  souls  whose  giving  and  doing  is  so 
entirely  away  from  self,  that  appreciation  can  only  be 
shown  by  silent  acceptance  ?  Thus,  I  was  ever  silent 
before  her  kindnesses,  but  I  have  no  fear  that  she 
misunderstood.  How  many  times  she  made  me  "  rest 
absolutely  for  just  five  minutes,"  drawing  me  into  her 
room  away  from  work,  and  pushing  me  gently  into 
a  chair  beside  her.  Sometimes,  when  I  thought  I 
was  too  weary  or  too  busy  for  the  noonday  lunch, 
I  would  come  to  my  desk  after  an  absence  from  the 
room,  and  find  one  waiting,  and  hear,  "You  just  eat 
that  for  me  ! ' ' 

But  my  thoughts  linger  most  tenderly  about  one 
day  I  spent  with  her — November  3rd.  The  evening 
before,  she  called  me  into  her  room,  and  giving  rae 
one  of  her  bonny  smiles,  said ,  ' '  Dear,  I  have  a 
scheme— just  for  you  and  me.  We  are  going  to  do 
our  work  to-morrow  at  Rest  Cottage.  We  will  just 
run  away  from  every  one."  She  was  not  well,  then, 
and   I    had   been    tired    for  some   time.      The   next 


A  YOUXG   WOMAN  JOURNALIST.  5 1 

morning  I  went  with  note-book  and  pencils  to  Evan- 
ston  and  Rest  Cottage — my  first  visit  to  both.  She 
met  me  as,  it  seemed  to  me,  only  Miss  Ames  could 
meet  and  greet  any  one,  and  removing  mj^  wraps  with 
her  own  hands,  led  me  into  a  room  which  she  called 
' '  ours  " — her  own  and  Miss  Hood's.  She  put  me  into 
a  great  "dreaming  chair,"  placed  a  rest  for  my  feet, 
and  leaning  over  kissed  ray  forehead,  saying,  "  Now, 
rest ' '  ;  she  left  me,  and  as  I  had  no  work  I  could  pos- 
sibly do,  I  did  rest  body  and  soul,  in  that  beautiful 
room.  When  she  came  back,  she  gave  me  some 
writing  to  do,  and,  as  I  wrote,  brought  a  plate  with 
white  and  purple  grapes,  a  golden  orange  and  a  rosy- 
cheeked  apple.  ' '  Eat  and  work — then  it  is  more  like 
play  !"  But  she  took  none  herself,  and  I  wondered 
if  she  ever  "  played  "  except  to  please  some  one  else. 
By  and  by  she  took  me  by  the  hand,  saying,  "  Now, 
we  will  go  over  the  house."  And  so,  though  I  had 
gone  to  work,  the  "play"  and  rest  predominated.  I 
reminded  her  of  it,  thinking  she  really  needed  me,  for 
it  was  just  before  the  great  Convention.  "Never 
mind  the  work.  I  brought  you  here  more  for  a 
change  than  anything  else.  Did  n't  I  say  it  was  a 
scheme?'''  Then  the  lovely  scheme  went  on,  while 
she  took  me  from  room  to  room,  adding  charm  to 
the  surroundings  by  her  vivid  bits  of  explanation 
and  narrative.  Last  of  all,  we  went  to  "The  Den  " 
and  there  I  was  presented  to  Madame  Willard.  As  a 
child  once  said  upon  an  occasion  of  glad  solemnity — 
"  It  was  like  being  in  church  !  " 

We  worked,  then,  for  the  rest  of  the  da}-— that  is, 
she  did.      She   kept  urging  me  to    "rest,"    for  she 


52  A   YOUNG   WOMAN    JOURNALIST. 

knew  how  tired  I  had  been,  for  a  long  time,  of  city 
sights  and  sounds,  and  seemed  to  know  how  her  gen- 
erous "scheme  "  was  refreshing  me. 

That  was  almost  the  last  work  I  did  for  her, — then 
came  the  hurrj'  of  preparation  before  tne  departure 
for  Boston.  Just  before  she  passed  through  the  c  ffice 
door,  after  she  bade  me  good-bye  with  a  laughing 
injunction  to  "be  good,"  I  called  after  her,  "  Oh,  do 
take  care  of  yourself !  ' '  and  laden  though  she  was 
with  packages,  hurried  though  she  was,  and  sur- 
rounded by  her  friends  and  companions,  she  turned 
about  and  shook  her  finger  at  me,  smiled,  nodded  her 
head  and  was  gone.  It  was  as  if  the  sun  had  sud- 
denly gone  down.  And  it  had.  That  bright,  soul- 
sunshine  has  never  shone  in  these  rooms  since, 
though,  somehow,  when  we  talk  about  her,  there  is  a 
lightening  of  the  shadow  that  reminds  one  of  the 
world-sunlight  seen  through  a  mist  of  rain. 

What  more  can  I  say?  Her  loved  ones  have 
well-nigh  exhausted  phrases  to  tell  what  she  was  and 
how  endeared  to  them.  Surely  she  was,  and  is,  in 
preciousness  of  heart  and  mind  and  soul,  "far  above 
rubies. " 

Editorial  Secretary. 


LADY    HENRY   SOMERSET. 

HAD  just  finished  my  first  address 
as  President  of  the  British  Women's 
Temperance  Association,  in  May, 
1S90,  when  I  turned  to  Mrs.  Han- 
nah Whitall  Smith,  who  stood  on 
the  platform  by  my  side,  and  she  presented 
to  me  a  lad}'  who  had  accompanied  her  to  the 
meeting.  I  stretched  out  my  hand  to  greet 
the  guest  who  had  been  sent  as  a  delegate  from  the 
White-Ribbon  army,  and  as  I  clasped  her  hand  I 
looked  for  the  first  time  into  the  face  of  Julia  Ames. 
Bright,  eager,  and  buoyant,  with  that  sympathetic 
smile  which  meets  one  like  a  flood  of  sunshine,  a  more 
intellectually  beautiful  girl  I  had  never  seen.  Her 
warm  greeting  and  her  earnest  manner  were  singu- 
larly striking,  and  as  I  left  the  hall  I  thought  that 
America  had  certainly  sent  us  one  of  her  choicest 
spirits. 

I  met  her  again  at  the  home  of  our  mutual  friend 

and  sat  with  her  through  one  long  summer  afternoon, 

looking  out  on  the  river  where  the  boats  were  passing 

to  and  fro,  talking  of  all  the  topics  nearest  to  me  and 

53 


54  A    YOrXG   WOMAN-  JOURXALIST. 

which  for  the  last  few  years  had  formed  her  life's 
occupation.  She  told  me  how  she  entered  the  journal- 
istic career,  and  I  questioned  her  of  all  the  grand 
work  women  have  accomplished  in  America,  of  the 
onward  march  of  the  great  reform  armj',  and  of  its 
President,  who  had  long  been  a  figure  of  deepest  in- 
terest to  me.  Her  glowing  words  of  admiration  and 
the  deep  love  with  which  she  spoke  of  her  great 
leader,  only  increased  my  earnest  desire  to  know  Miss 
Willard. 

It  has  been  my  good  fortune  through  life  to  meet 
many  intelligent  women,  but  I  never  remember  being 
more  impressed  with  the  thorough  whole-heartedness 
of  so  young  a  girl.  Her  eager  desire  for  knowledge 
was  almost  pathetic,  as  was  her  determination  that  not 
a  moment  should  be  lost,  during  her  .short  sta)^,  in  lay- 
ing up  fresh  stores  of  information  in  the  old  country. 
I  have  always  held  that  journalism  is  to-day  "the  gift 
of  prophecy,"  which  Miss  Willard  so  aptly  calls  the 
sixth  sense,  and  this  prescience  of  coming  events 
was  a  strong  characteristic  of  Julia  Ames.  An  idea 
only  half  expressed  would  soon  formulate  in  her  mind 
as  an  exact  thought  ;  she  was  so  quick  to  seize  a  situ- 
ation and  grasp  an  opportunity.  W.  T.  Stead  spoke 
to  me  of  her  talent  with  warm  admiration.  "  I  have 
never  met  a  young  woman,"  said  he,  "  who  struck  me 
as  having  so  great  a  talent  for  journalism." 

During  the  summer  she  accompanied  me  to  one  of 
our  monthly  conferences  where  she  was  to  speak  of 
the  Press  work  that  was  so  near  her  heart.  I  can  see 
her  now,  as  she  stood  before  the  audience,  dignified 
and  calm,  as  with  a  voice  sweet  and  deep  she  handled 


A    YOUNG    WOMAN   JOURNALIST.  55 

a  subject  that  from  other  lips  and  from  another  mind 
might  have  been  dull  and  business-like,  but  she  gave 
it  such  a  touch  of  poetry  and  a  sense  of  consecration 
that  her  words  brought  tears  to  my  eyes.     Everything 
seemed  hallowed  :  the  daily  grind  of  a  journalist's  life, 
the  art  of  compositors,  even  the  mechanical  work  of 
the  proof-reader,  all  were  interwoven  with  the  highest 
thoughts  and  noblest  purposes.     There  was   to   my 
mind  something  heroic  in  the  enthusiasm  with  which 
she  spoke  of  the  career  that  she  had  adopted.     Her 
words  gave  an  inspiration  to  her  hearers  and  at  the 
close  of  the  meeting  one  of  our  brightest  women  arose 
and  volunteered  for  the  work  at  once,  and  I  believe 
the  impression  made  that  day  still  lives  in  our  hearts. 
Later  in  the  season  she  stayed  with  me  at  Eastnor 
Castle.     How  well   I  remember  her  bright  face  and 
the  look  of  joyous  health  that  gave  her  such  charm, 
as   she   came  forward  out  of  the  darkness   into   the 
glow  of  light  as  I  went  to  bid   her  welcome  to  my 
home.     The  house  was  full  of  visitors,  and,  during  her 
stay,  one  and  all  took  occasion  to  tell  me  how  much 
they  appreciated  her  intellect  and  beautiful  refinement 
of  character.       It  was  during  this  short  visit  that  I 
sounded' her  deeper  nature.     One  early  autumn  morn- 
ing as  we  went  together  to  attend  a  little  meeting  that 
was  held  for  the  people  among  the  hills,  as  we  drove 
through  the  soft,  balmy  air  she  told  me  some  of  her 
higher  aspirations  and  much  of  her  inner  thoughts, 
and  I  realized   how  true   and   thorough   and  whole- 
hearted was  the  consecration  of  her  life.     Her  visit 
to   Ober-Ammergau  had   made  a  deep  impression  on 
her  mind  ;  and  when  I  asked  her  if  she  did  not  feel 


56  A    YOUNG    WOMAN  JOURXALTST. 

in  some  way  that  the  scenes  were  almost  repellant  in 
their  realism,  she  said  in  her  earnest  way,  "They 
brought  Christ  nearer  to  me  than  He  had  ever  been 
before,"  and  there  was  something  in  her  tone  that 
made  me  feel  that  He  was  near,  indeed. 

I  saw  her  again  when,  for  the  first  time,  I  stepped 
on  American  soil,  and  it  was  to  me  as  if  a  home  face 
had  come  from  across  the  water.  I  saw  her  at  Boston, 
self-sacrificing,  devoted  to  the  last,  caring  for  all  except 
herself  and  forgetting  her  own  interest  in  the  loyal 
desire  to  do  all  she  knew  for  the  cause  she  held 
so  dear. 

I  saw  her  last,  stretched  on  her  bed  of  sickness  with 
her  devoted  friend.  Miss  Hood,  beside  her,  and  as  I  laid 
some  flowers  in  her  hand  there  came  to  me  the  strong 
presentiment  that  I  should  see  her  no  more  until  we 
met  in  the  fields  of  light.  Beautiful  Yolande!  Our 
greeting  will  be  sweet  on  those  shores,  sweeter  even 
than  i^  w^as  when  you  held  out  vour  hand  and  smiled 
upon  me  here  in  the  new  country. 


From 

"l/anJ)5  now  foC^oD  in  i^t  ^reamfcss 


iEttglanD. 

May  20,  rSgo. 

'o-DAY  I  first  set  foot  on  English  soil. 
What  a  history  has  this  little  island 
and  what  an  influence  on  the  history 
of  the  world!  Every  foot  of  its  green 
soil  could  speak  eloquently  of  great 
events. 
Arriving  in  Dublin  at  4:30  a.  m.,  I  sang 
Kathleen  Mavourneen,  the  gray  dawn  is 
breaking,"  as  we  drove  to  the  station;  after  a 
wretched  breakfast  we  took  the  train  for  Kingstown, 
where  we  found  an  elegant  mail  steamer  in  readiness 
to  take  us  to  Holyhead,  sixty-six  miles  distant.  We 
caught  delightful  glimpses  of  the  Welsh  coast  and  in 
four  hours  reached  shore,  where  we  took  the  express 
train  for  London.  At  classic  Chester  we  stopped  for 
lunch  and  Mrs.  Barnes  ordered  a  "basket."  Such  a 
nice  way,  for  you  can  eat  at  your  leisure  and  leave 
the  basket  in  the  compartment !  I  did  want  to  stop  at 
that  old  cit3^  one  of  the  chief  military  stations  of  the 
Romans  in  Britain,  and  walk  around  the  walls  which 
completely  surround  it. 

All  day  we  were  kept  in  a  state  of  exclamation, 
for  the  country  looked  like  a  garden.  The  farms  are 
not    much    larger  than    our    lawns    and  as   perfectly 


6o  A   YOUNG    WOMAN  JOURNALIST. 

kept ;  snow-white  sheep  dotted  the  green  grass,  and 
daisies  and  buttercups  were  as  thick  as  the  stars  on  a 
summer  night  and  looked  much  like  them. 

At  6:30  we  reached  Mrs.  Hannah  Whitall  Smith's 
door,  and  found  a  note  telling  us  to  come  at  once  to 
Memorial  Hall  to  a  reception  given  by  the  British 
Women's  Temperance  Association.  So,  after  taking 
tea  and  donning  our  other  gowns,  we  hastened  to  meet 
our  "sisters."  How  sweet  Mrs.  Smith's  "benedic- 
tion face"  looked  !  The  first  person  to  greet  us  was 
Mrs.  J.  Ellen  Foster,  and  I  was  glad  to  sit  b}'  her  side 
and  hear  her  speak,  with  no  shadow  between  us  as 
there  always  seems  to  be  at  our  National  Conven- 
tions. I  was  introduced,  and  said  a  few  words  in 
response.  How  glad  we  were  to  go  to  bed  and  sleep  ! 
I  felt  so  sensibly  the  Everlasting  Arms  around  me  and 
prayed  God  to  keep  my  loved  ones  safely  until  we 
meet  again  ! 

May  21. — A  beautiful  day.  I  asked  Mr.  Smith 
where  the  notorious  London  fog  was.  He  said  the 
sun  was  behaving  unusually  well  for  our  benefit,  but 
often  it  was  so  dark  at  noon  you  could  not  see  a  step 
before  you,  and  could  only  find  your  way  by  having  a 
small  boy  by  your  side  with  a  torch.  I  was  charmed 
with  Mr.  Smith.  He  looks  like  an  Englishman  and 
talks  like  one,  and  is  so  refined  and  genial,  is  devoted 
to  culture  and  has  the  entree  to  all  literarj^  circles. 

After  breakfast  we  hastened  to  the  Convention 
of  the  British  Women's  Temperance  Association.  I 
spread  out  the  literature  of  our  Woman's  Temperance 
Publishing  As.sociation,  and  then  went  to  the  plat- 
form.    Was  surprised  and  delighted  at  the  fluencj'  of 


A    YOUNG   WOMAN   JOURNALIST.  6 1 

the  speakers,  but  everything  seemed  very  "cut  and 
dried,"  for  no  motion  was  made  from  the  floor,  every- 
thing was  introduced  hy  some  lady  who  had  been  pre- 
viously selected,  seconded  by  some  one  else  and 
supported  by  others.  We  learned  that  to  present  a 
resolution,  or  second  it,  meant  an  opportunity  for  a 
speech,  often  on  another  subject.  They  always  ended 
with,  "I  have  great  pleasure  in  seconding  (or  sup- 
porting) the  resolution."  The  vote  was  taken  b}^ 
blue  cards,  each  delegate  holding  up  her  card.  Very 
funny  it  seemed  to  us  to  hear  the  chairman  say, 
"Thank  you."  Indeed,  this  is  a  thankful  nation; 
everything  you  do  is  acknowledged  in  this  way.  We 
called  Jimmie,  our  cabin  boy  on  the  ship,  "Little 
Thank  You." 

L,ady  Henry  Somerset  quite  captured  my  heart. 
Hannah  Whitall  Smith  asked  her  how  it  was  that  she 
became  so  earnest  a  Christian,  She  said,  with  her 
it  was  either  black  or  white,  and  so  one  entire  winter 
she  shut  herself  up  and  communed  with  God  and 
learned  of  Him.  She  is  so  noble  and  true  ;  devotes 
herself  to  good  works.  Mrs.  Smith  said  when  she 
was  at  Eastnor  Castle  last  winter,  there  were  two 
poor  consumptives  there,  dying  ;  each  had  a  trained 
nurse  and  every  comfort,  and  the  only  tie  that  bound 
them  to  their  hostess  was  that  which  makes  the  whole 
world  kin. 

Lady  Henry's  inauguration  address  was  royal,  a 
classic  in  its  diction,  and  her  rarely  beautiful  spirit 
shone  through  it.  How  Miss  Willard  will  love  her, 
for  she  is  broad  and  progressive  like  our  own  beloved 
leader.     Whenever   Miss  Willard's   name  was   men- 


62  A    YOUNG    WOMAN   JOURNALIST. 

tioned,  how  the  audience  cheered  !  A  royal  welcome 
awaits  you,  beloved,  on  this  side. 

The  British  women  were  all  so  kind  to  us.  Many 
were  the  invitations  we  received  to  visit  them  at  their 
homes. 

May  22. — The  feature  of  to-day's  meeting  was  the 
evening  session  held  in  the  large  hall.  Mrs.  Barnes 
did  splendidly.  Representatives  from  ten  noble  fam- 
ilies sat  upon  the  platform.  The  sister-in-law  of 
Charles  Kingsley  read  a  fine  paper  and  Antoinette 
Sterling  sang  most  exquisitel}'.  Her  voice  is  remark- 
ably rich  and  pure.  How  rich  in  soul-food  have  been 
these  last  two  days !  Blessings  on  all  my  loved 
friends  who  helped  me  to  this  feast !  How  good  God 
has  ever  been  to  me  !  My  heart  for  gladness  sings 
His  praise  ! 

May  2j. — This  morning  I  spent  in  writing  to  the 
loved  ones  at  home.  In  the  afternoon  we  went  to 
call  upon  Lady  Henry  Somerset.  We  talked  over  all 
phases  of  the  work  and  I  am  delighted  with  her  pro- 
gressiveness. 

Mr.  Smith  called  for  us  in  the  carriage,  with 
coachman  in  liver}',  at  five  o'clock,  and  away  we  went 
to  join  the  swells  in  Hyde  Park. 

This  beautiful  park  covers  an  area  of  eight  hun- 
dred and  ninety  acres  ;  it  was  laid  out  under  Henry 
VIII.  and  is  one  of  the  most  frequented  and  lovely 
scenes  in  London.  In  the  Drive  we  passed  an  un- 
broken file  of  the  most  elegant  equipages  I  ever 
saw,  drawn  by  high-bred  horses  in  handsome  trap- 
pings, presided  over  by  sleek  coachmen  and  powdered 
lackeys,    and    occupied    by    beautiful    women    most 


A   YOUNG   WOMAN  JOURNALIST.  63 

exquisitely  dressed.  In  Rotten  Row  were  many  lady 
and  gentlemen  riders  on  glossy  steeds,  and  standing 
and  sitting  to  watch  ns  go  by,  were  thousands  of 
admiring  people. 

I  could  hardly  believe  it  was  /,  sitting  there  in 
such  style.     But  my  heart  was  at  Rest  Cottage, 

Beautiful  statues  adorn  the  park,  the  Serpentine 
was  covered  with  boats  filled  with  happy  people,  and 
all  the  world  seemed  joyous  this  beautiful  May  day. 

May  2^. — I  stole  down  to  the  National  Gallery 
and  had  a  delicious  hour.  To  think  that  this  huge 
building  erected  in  1832-38  at  a  cost  of  ^96,000  and 
containing  over  twelve  hundred  pictures,  should  have 
grown  from  the  Angerstein  collection  of  thirty-eight 
paintings  I 

I  was  delighted  to  find  many  old  favorites,  among 
them  Rosa  Bonheur's  Horse  Fair,  and  many  by  Land- 
seer.  "A  Distinguished  Member  of  the  Humane 
Societ}^  "  looked  at  me  as  if  he  would  speak  and 
bid  me  welcome. 

The  pictures  of  St.  Augustine  and  St.  Monica 
held  me  spellbound,  so  pure  and  heavenly  was  the 
expression  of  their  faces.  I  must  go  again,  soon,  to 
this  rare  gallery. 

This  afternoon  was  perfect  and  Mr.  Smith  took  us 
in  the  "  American  "  carriage  to  drive.  We  wound  in 
and  out  through  narrow  little  lanes  with  quaint  old 
houses,  until  we  came  to  Battersea  Park,  one  hun- 
dred and  eight3'-five  acres  in  extent,  and  for  the 
especial  use  of  the  poor.  All  kinds  of  amusements 
are  furnished,  and  what  a  good  time  the  people  were 
having  ! 


64  A    YOUNG   WOMAN    JOURNALIST. 

We  passed  miles  and  miles  of  villas,  each  with  its 
peculiar  name.  The  hawthorn  trees  looked  like 
snowbanks  and  the  perfume  was  like  elixir.  We 
drew  long  breaths  and  wished  our  lungs  could  ex- 
pand more.  Eight  miles  of  beauty  form  this  park. 
We  saw  large  herds  of  deer.  Such  beautiful  creat- 
ures thej^  are  ! 

We  went  to  the  Star  and  Garter  Inn,  and  had  a 
fine  view  of  the  Thames  from  the  terrace.  No  river  is 
so  given  up  to  pleasure.  From  this  point  the  regatta 
starts.  Pembroke  Lodge  in  this  park  was  the  seat  of 
the  illustrious  statesman,  Lord  John  Russell,  and  the 
small  church  of  Richmond  contains  the  tomb  of 
Edmund  Kean,  the  famous  actor. 

The  drive  home  was  very  pleasant  and  dinner 
thoroughly  enjoyed.  I  spent  the  evening  with  Mr. 
Smith  on  his  balcony.  The  scene  was  bewitching  ;  as 
the  sun  set  about  nine  o'clock,  Lambeth  Bridge  and 
Palace  were  all  aglow  and  the  hum  of  the  great  city 
as  it  sank  to  rest  was  a  soothing  lullaby. 

Siaiday,  May  2^. — My  first  Sunday  in  this  great, 
historic  old  city!  A  world  in  itself.  It  does  not  seem 
possible  that  within  its  borders  dwell  five  million 
souls,  each  with  as  distinct  an  individuality  as  my  own. 

Oh,  this  poor  humanity  which  "beats  its  life 
along  the  stony  street"  !  How  it  goes  to  my  heart 
to  see  the  faces  of  some  of  the  poor,  care-worn 
women  !  Still,  the  opportunities  of  pleasure  for  the 
poor  are  innumerable  :  parks,  galleries,  museums, 
gardens,  all  are  open  to  them. 

This  is  Whitsunday,  the  day  Christ  established 
His    church.     I  can    not  express    my    feelings    as    I 


■0-i<Mi^im) 


A    YOUNG   WOMAN  JOURNALIST.  65 

entered  Westminster  Abbey,  the  English  ' '  Temple 
of  Fame"  of  which  I  had  read  and  dreamed.  How 
the  organ  pealed  out  and  the  great  vaulted  roof 
echoed  and  re-echoed  the  "Praises  to  God  in  the 
Highest "  !  A  white  dove  kept  flying  back  and 
forth,  from  rafter  to  rafter,  and  hovered  over  the  head 
of  the  Canon  in  his  long,  black  gown,  as  he  partook 
of  the  sacrament.  The  sermon  was  by  a  young  man 
and  was  very  tame.  According  to  him,  the  only 
way  to  reach  Christ  is  through  the  Church.  At 
eleven  o'clock  the  service  was  over,  and  I  slipped  into 
St.  Margaret's  Chapel  to  hear  dear  Canon  Farrar.  It 
was  comforting  to  hear  him  speak  of  a  personal 
Christ  who  can  come  to  us  anywhere. 

The  light  through  the  stained  glass  memorial 
window,  placed  in  the  east  end  by  George  Childs,  of 
Philadelphia,  rested  on  the  heads  of  the  congregation 
like  a  halo,  and  I  felt  I  was  on  hallowed  ground.  On 
every  side  were  tablets  in  memory  of  great  men  who 
have  lived  for  others,  net  themselves,  and  so  won 
love  and  an  eternal  monument. 

We  spent  the  afternoon  and  evening  quietly  at 
home.  I^ady  Henry  Somerset  took  tea  with  us  and 
we  had  a  nice  visit. 

May  26. — Whitsun  Monday  is  a  great  holiday. 
Early  in  the  morning  the  people  began  to  go  by  the 
house  in  groups,  dressed  in  their  best,  with  lunch- 
baskets,  etc.,  prepared  for  a  happy  day.  All  sorts 
of  vehicles  carried  whole  families  to  parks  and 
country  haunts,  and  we  saw  one  dray  with  at  least 
fifty  children  in  it.  Their  little  faces,  bright  and 
open,  looked  like  a  bed  of  pansies.     Mrs.  Barnes  and 


66  A   YOUNG    WOMAX   JOURNALIST. 

I  spent  about  two  hours  looking  up  hotels,  and  called 
on  Mrs.  Foster  and  arranged  to  go  with  her  and  her 
son  to  Crystal  Palace  in  the  evening.  We  wanted  to 
see  an  English  crowed,  and  we  certainly  did,  for  over 
sixty-one  thousand  people  were  there.  The  fire- 
works were  very  fine  ;  fountains  of  all  colors,  showers 
of  stars  and  all  sorts  of  gorgeous  effects  made  us 
exclaim  with  every  breath,  "  How  beautiful  !  "  We 
got  into  the  jam  going  up  the  stairs,  but  once  in  the 
concert  room  there  w^as  plenty  of  space  for  all,  for  the 
nave  is  one  thousand,  six  hundred  and  eight  feet 
long.  The  palace  is  built  entirely  of  glass  and  iron, 
and  cost  a  million  and  a  half  sterling.  The  effect 
from  the  outside  when  it  is  brilliantl)'  lighted  is  like 
fairy-laud.  In  the  gardens,  the  most  enchanting 
effect  is  secured  by  placing  the  statuary  with  the 
green  foliage  of  the  plants  as  a  background.  The 
purpose  of  the  building  seems  to  be  to  present,  at  a 
single  glance,  a  magnificent  and  unique  view  of  the 
art  and  culture  of  nations  which  are  widel}^  separated 
from  each  other  in  time  and  space. 

On  each  side  of  the  nave  are  courts  containing 
copies  of  the  architecture  and  sculpture  of  the  most 
highly  civilized  nations,  from  the  earliest  period  to 
the  present  day.  One  could  fancy  himself  in  another 
world  and  age  as  he  rambles  through  those  beautiful 
houses  of  departed  races. 

But  the  delusion  was  soon  dispelled,  for  upon 
every  turn,  I  am  sorry  tosa^^  we  ran  against  drunken 
men  and  women.  It  made  my  heart  ache  to  see  the 
great  numbers  of  young  women  that  were  intoxicated. 
Then  and  there  I  consecrated  myself  anew  to  the  tern- 


A    YOUNG    WOMAN  JOURNALIST.  67 

perance  cause.  God  grant  I  may  help  put  a  light  in 
the  window  for  every  sister,  tempted  and  tried  !  We 
saw  hundreds  of  couples  with  their  arms  around  each 
other's  necks,  singing  and  dancing.  I  shudder  to 
think  of  what  the  end  of  this  revel  may  be  to  many  a 
poor  girl,  and  yet  thus  is  celebrated  the  birth  of  the 
Christian  church. 

We  reached  London  about  one  o'clock  and  took  a 
cab  for  home,  where  we  arrived  in  safety,  though  it 
seemed  very  ' '  spooky ' '  driving  down  dark  streets 
alone  at  that  hour.  What  sights  we  saw  !  I  blush 
to  think  of  them. 

May  2y. — The  event  of  the  day  to  me  was  our  call 
upon  Mr.  Stead.  He  received  me  as  a  sister  beloved  ; 
is  just  what  I  expected  him  to  be,  warm  and  broth- 
erly. Not  handsome,  rather  gaunt,  but  so  good- 
looking  ;  about  such  a  man  as  our  beloved  Abraham 
lyincoln.  He  won  my  heart  at  once,  and  I  look  for- 
ward Lo  a  visit  in  his  home  with  great  pleasure. 
After  an  early  dinner  we  started  for  Bunhill  Field 
Mission,  visited  the  quaint  old  graveyard  where 
Bunyan  and  Watts  are  buried,  and  read  the  funny 
inscriptions  on  the  tombstones. 

I  did  not  know  how  dear  our  grand  old  Methodist 
church  was,  until  I  stood  at  the  grave  of  its  founder 
and  thought  of  his  wonderful  career.  What  his  faith 
cost  him  in  a  worldly  sense,  and  how  glorious  is  his 
heavenly  reward  !  How  it  rejoiced  my  heart  to  see 
the  mother  honored  equally  with  her  sons  ! 

In  the  old  chapel  where  Wesley  preached,  I  stood 
as  the  sun  was  setting.  The  last  rays  came  through 
the  beautiful  stained  glass  windows,  placed  there  by 


68  A   YOUNG   WOMAN   JOURNALIST. 

Americans  in  memory  of  Bishop  Simpson,  who  many 
times  occupied  this  pulpit.  It  was  hard  to  leave  a 
place  so  full  of  blessed  memories,  but  we  did  and 
went  to  the  Mission  of  the  Friends  where  a  great 
work  is  being  carried  on  in  the  very  region  once 
infested  by  the  "forty  thieves";  thirty-two  public 
temperance  meetings  were  held  here  last  year. 

May  28. — Have  spent  a  quiet  but  pleasant  day  at 
home.  In  the  morning  I  packed,  and  wrote  letters, 
and  in  the  afternoon  rode  with  Mr.  Smith  in  Hyde 
Park.  A  regular  society  kaleidoscope.  After  dinner 
we  sat  on  the  balcony  and  talked.  Mr.  Smith  is  a 
very  fine  conversationalist.  He  told  me  much  of 
Dorothy  Tennant  who  is  to  marry  Stanley.  She  has 
the  most  popular  salon  in  England  ;  is  an  English 
Madame  de  Stael.  Gladstone  and  all  men  admire  her 
exceedingly.  She  has  the  rare  gift  of  being  a  good 
listener,  will  sit  at  your  feet  and  look  into  your  face 
with  a  rapt  expression,  thus  paying  a  most  delicate 
compliment.  Her  pictures  are  on  exhibition  in  some 
gallery.     I  must  see  them. 

Mr.  Smith  showed  me  Lady  ]Mount  Temple's  pict- 
ure and  told  me  much  of  her  and  her  husband. 
Surely,  the  spirit  which  was  in  Christ  was  in  them, 
for  they  did  for  the  people,  even  when  they  knew 
they  were  being  imposed  upon. 

May  29. —  En  route  for  York.  The  third-class 
carriages  are  very  comfortable  on  this  line  on  the 
through  trains. 

The  brave  city  of  York  is  one  of  the  oldest  and 
most  important  in  England.  It  was  the  scene  of 
great   events   during   the   struggles   of    the    Britons, 


A   YOUNG   WOMAN   JOURNALIST.  69 

Saxons  and  Danes,  and  its  fabulous  history  dates 
back  to  the  time  that  David  reigned  in  Judea.  In 
A.  D.  521,  King  Arthur  kept  Christmas  here  (said 
to  be  the  first  celebration  of  that  festival  held  in  Lon- 
don). The  first  English  Parliament  met  here  in 
II75- 

The  York  Cathedral,  the  third  largest  in  the 
world,  was  destroyed  by  fire  in  1068,  and  has  been 
rebuilt  several  times.  The  central  wall  of  the  first 
crypt  still  remains.  In  1472  the  church,  as  it  now 
stands,  was  consecrated.  The  special  features  of  the 
minster  are  the  dignity  and  massive  grandeur  of  the 
whole.  The  efiect  grows  upon  one  the  longer  it  is 
surveyed.  Among  the  monuments,  of  which  there 
are  thousands,  that  of  Dr.  Duncombe,  Dean  of  York, 
is  most  beautiful ;  the  cherubs  at  the  head  and  feet 
are  wonderfully  executed.  The  Chapter  House, 
which  stands  unrivaled  among  English  Chapter 
Houses,  is  certainly  very  fine — and  to  think  that  at 
one  time  it  was  used  as  a  stable  !  The  stained  glass 
windows  excel  any  others  I  have  seen,  especially 
that  of  the  Five  Sisters.  The  great  east  window 
pictures  scenes  beginning  with  the  creation  and 
ending  with  the  death  of  Absalom.  Below  this 
first  division,  are  scenes  from  Revelation,  and  por- 
traits of  kings  and  bishops. 

We  heard  the  organist  practicing  for  a  high  festi- 
val, and  never  have  I  heard  such  music.  It  was  as  if 
a  divine  hand  pressed  the  keys.  The  man  we  could 
not  see,  but  the  harmony  thrilled  all  hearts.  Thus  it 
may  be  with  us,  if  we  are  willing  to  be  only  instru- 
ments in  God's  hands. 


yo 


A   YOUNG   WOMAN  JOURNALIST, 


We  walked  around  the  walls  of  the  city  and  back 
to  the  hotel ;  visited  a  temperance  friend  in  the  house 
where  Lindley  Murray  wrote  his  books  From  the 
dining-room  you  step  into  a  most  beautiful  garden 
where  the  flowers  were  all  in  bloom. 

I  must  not  forget  the  museum,  filled  with  all  sorts 
of  curios,  and  St.  :Mary's  Abbey,  a  Benedictine  mon- 
astery now  in  ruins  and  most  interesting  and  beau- 
tiful. 

We  would  gladly  have  lingered  in  this  dear  old 
city  on  the  Ouse,  but  could  not,  and  owing  to  the  rain 
we  did  not  visit  Fountain  Abbey.  Some  day  I  will 
spend  an  entire  summer  in  England  and  see  all  its 
beauties. 


Scotlanti. 

May  JO. 
Scotland  !  thy  wild  heaths 
Famed  for  martial  deed  and  sacred  song, 
To  thee  I  turn." 

DEI.IGHTFUL  ride  through  a 
garden-land  and  we  were  in  Edin- 
burgh. Mrs.  Foster  had  told  us  to 
^o  to  Darling's  Temperance  Hotel  and 
we  did.  A  dear  old  ladj^  came  forward 
to  greet  us  as  we  entered,  and  welcomed  us  as 
cordiall}^  as  if  we  were  expected  guests.  We  engaged 
rooms,  left  our  bags  and  went  back  to  the  station. 
As  we  were  looking  for  a  compartment,  whom  should 
I  spy  but  the  Coles  part5\  Of  course,  there  were  lots 
of  exclamations  and  explanations,  and  great  delight 
when  we  found  they  were  going  to  Melrose,  too.  In 
an  hour  we  were  at  the  quaint  little  Abbey  hotel.  In 
the  hall  was  a  regular  museum  and  a  live  dove  flew 
all  about.  A  few  minutes'  walk  and  we  were  in  the 
most  charming  country  lane.  There  were  the  great 
oak  trees  with  their  overhanging  branches  and  the 
barefooted  children  driving  home  the  cows.  I  found 
myself  repeating, 

"They  drive  home  the  cows  from  the  pasture, 
Up  through  the  long,  shady  lane," 


72  A   YOUNG   WOMAN  JOURNAUST. 

and  wishing  I  could  see  my  niece,  Jessie,  who  speaks 
that  so  sweetly. 

Melrose  by  moonlight !  that  is  what  we  wanted  to 
see,  and  we  did,  and  by  sunset  also,  and  it  was  glo- 
rious. We  went  all  through  and  around  the  old  ruin. 
Melrose  Abbey  is  in  form  like  all  ancient  churches, 
symbolical  of  and  representing  the  cross.  Our  atten- 
tion was  at  once  attracted  to  the  exquisite  beauty  of 
the  foliage  tracery,  grotesque  corbels  and  other  orna- 
mental sculpture.  This  Abbey  is  unquestionably  one 
of  the  finest  specimens  of  Gothic  architecture  of 
which  this  country  can  boast,  and  ranks  among  the 
most  beautiful  of  all  the  ecclesiastical  ruins  which  lie 
scattered  throughout  this  reformed  land. 

I  sat  on  the  stone  which  was  the  favorite  resting- 
place  of  Sir  Walter  Scott,  touched  the  grave  of  the 
famous  wizard,  Michael  Scott,  and  standing  at  the 
high  altar  read  from  one  of  the  bard's  poems.  Here, 
also,  is  the  heart  of  King  Robert  Bruce,  brought  back 
from  Spain,  after  Douglas  had  made  an  unsuccessful 
attempt  to  carry  it  to  the  Holy  Land. 

I  wandered  for  an  hour  in  the  burial  ground  where 
king  and  peasant,  abbot  and  rribnk,  priest  and  warrior, 
rich  and  poor,  lie  at  rest,  all  hushed  and  silent.  So 
will  we  all  lie  ere-long. 

Before  we  knew  it,  the  golden  sunlight  had  faded 
and  the  moon  was  turning  every  leaf  and  buttress  and 
sculptured  face  to  silver.  I  could  hardly  tear  myself 
away  from  this  enchanted  spot,  and  long  after  I 
went  to  bed  I  watched  the  shadows  on  the  old  ruin, 
until  at  last  I  fell  asleep  and  dreamed  of  heavenly 
places. 


A   YOUNG    WOMAN    JOURNALIST.  73 

May  31. — How  little  I  thought  when  I  used  to 
read  Lady  of  the  Lake,  Ivanhoe,  and  all  of  Scott's 
works,  that  one  day  I  should  visit  his  home  and  the 
places  he  so  vividly  describes  1  But  here  I  am. 
Surely,  the  Lord  is  very  good  to  me. 

We  left  the  hotel  at  ten  o'clock,  in  an  open  car- 
riage, and  drove  seven  miles  through  the  most  beau- 
tiful country  imaginable,  to  Abbotsford,  a  very  fine 
estate  and  now  owned  by  a  granddaughter  of  Sir 
Walter  Scott.  We  saw  her  picture,  and  if  she  is 
really  as  sweet-looking  as  that,  she  is  very  beautiful. 
The  entrance  hall,  armory-,  drawing-room,  library  and 
study  are  open  to  the  public.  There  was  Scott's 
chair  just  where  he  sat,  and  books  were  everywhere. 
A  balcony  ran  all  around  the  study,  and  from  one  cor- 
ner he  could  escape  to  his  chamber.  The  library  was 
lined  with  the  choicest  volumes,  and  over  the  mantel 
was  the  famous  picture  of  the  master  with  his  two 
dogs. 

In  the  armory  were  all  the  trappings  of  war,  artist- 
ically arranged  by  Scott  himself.  Rare  swords,  etc., 
filled  glass  cases  ;  indeed,  every  room  contained  price- 
less gifts  from  distinguished  people.  No  place  has 
been  more  fascinating  than  this.  Surely,  ' '  All  houses 
wherein  men  have  lived  and  died  are  haunted  houses," 
but  Scott  seemed  to  speak  in  every  room.  So  perfect 
a  house  in  all  its  appointments  I  never  saw.  As  we 
reluctantly  left  it,  I  read  on  the  side  wall,  "  By  night, 
by  day,  remember  the  goodness  of  the  Lord,  whose 
glorious  name  is  spread  through  all  the  earth." 

Another  drive  over  the  Engli.sh  roads,  which  are 
perfect,  brought  us  to   Dryburgh   Abbey,  which  was 


74  A    YOUNG    WOMAX    JOURNALIST. 

founded  about  the  same  time  as  Melrose,  and,  like 
that,  was  destroyed  in  1322  by  Edward  II.  St.  Mary's 
aisle  contains  the  tomb  of  Scott,  who  was  buried  here 
in  1832,  also  the  graves  of  his  wife  and  son. 

The  rose  window,  covered  with  vines,  was  like  a 
picture,  and  the  hawthorn  trees  looked  just  like  snow- 
banks and  perfumed  the  air  for  miles  around.  The 
weather  was  perfect  and  I  was  so  happ3^  How  I 
wish  all  mj'  dear  ones  were  here  to  enjo)-  it  with  me  ! 

We  took  the  four  o'clock  train  back  to  Edinburgh 
and  after  supper  mounted  a  'bus  and  rode  around  the 
city,  then  out  to  the  Exposition,  which  for  an  inter- 
national affair  I  consider  ver}-  slim.  Wait  until 
Chicago  shows  the  world  its  Fair. 

June  I. — Sunday  is  truly  a  day  of  rest  in  this 
beautiful  city,  of  which  Sir  David  Wilkie  said:  "  What 
the  tour  of  Europe  was  necessary  to  see  elsewhere,  I 
now  find  congregated  in  this  one  city."  It  is  most 
beautifully  and  romantically  situated  within  a  fine 
group  of  hills  and  on  the  Firth  of  Forth,  and  the  views 
from  the  castle- crowned  rock  and  Calton  Hill  with  its 
classic  monuments,  are  superb. 

This  morning  we  attended  service  in  St.  Giles 
Cathedral,  where  the  Solemn  League  and  Covenant 
were  sworn  in  1643.  The  Lord  High  Commissioner 
with  his  court  was  there,  as  were  the  judges  in  their 
wigs  and  gowns.  The  idea  of  dignified  men  wearing 
wigs  !     What  fools  custom  and  style  will  make  of  us  ! 

The  sermon  was  on  "  Love."  Hardly  what  I  ex- 
pected from  an  old  Scotch  Presbyterian,  but  most 
blessed.  After  dinner  we  took  a  walk  past  Burns' 
Monument  and  up  on  Calton  Hill,  which  is  like  classic 


A    YOUNG   WOMAN   JOURNALIST.  75 

Athens  for  monuments.  Nelson's,  one  hundred  and 
two  feet  high,  is  most  imposing,  and  all  about  it  are 
guns — trophies  of  the  Crimean  War.  "Scotland's 
disgrace,"  the  National  Monument  is  called,  for  it 
was  begun  and  never  finished.  It  was  to  have  been 
in  imitation  of  the  Parthenon,  but  only  twelve  col- 
umns have  been  erected. 

At  nine  o'clock  we  w^ere  summoned  to  prayers  in 
the  drawing-room.  Think  of  it— a  hotel  with  family 
prayers  ! 

June  2.— We  started  out  early  to  "  do  "  the  city. 
Took  a  good  look  at  Scott's  Monument,  the  finest  I 
have  yet  seen.  He  is  represented  seated,  with  his 
dogs  by  his  side. 

Next,  we  went  to  the  Castle  on  the  cliff,  gloriously 
hung  round  with  national  histories  along  all  its  bat- 
tlements. All  the  history  of  Edinburgh  is  more  or 
less  intimately  connected  with  the  Castle.  A  fort  is 
supposed  to  have  crowned  this  dark,  massive  ridge 
even  in  days  anterior  to  the  Christian  era.  It 
was  destroyed  several  times  and  rebuilt.  Here  James 
II.  spent  his  minority  and  here  he  was  crowned. 
James  III.  and  IV.  also  made  it  their  residence.  In 
1 56 1  the  city  witnessed  the  superb  pageant  of  Queen 
Mary's  entry.  Here,  in  a  little  room  with  one  win- 
dow, James  VI.  was  born,  and  lowered  from  the  win- 
dow to  be  baptized.  We  were  just  in  time  to  see  the 
troops  drill,  and  very  picturesque  they  looked  in  their 
kilts  and  plaids.  We  crossed  the  old  draw,  and 
with  a  very  red-nosed  guide  made  the  rounds.  The 
crown  room  contains  the  Scottish  regalia,  consist- 
ing  of  a   remarkably   elegant   crown    of  pure   gold, 


76  A   YOUNG   WOMAN   JOURNALIST. 

dating  from  the  time  of  Bruce,  and  other  insignia  of 
royalty. 

St.  Margaret's  Chapel,  the  private  oratory  of 
Margaret  Canmore  (1093),  was  very  interesting,  also 
the  batteries  and  the  great  guns,  especially  Mons 
Meg,  forged  in  i486. 

We  visited  the  Parliament  House  and  the  old  Hall, 
the  walls  of  which  are  lined  with  portraits  of  great 
men.  Barristers  in  powdered  wigs  were  walking  u]-) 
and  down,  arm  in  arm  with  clients.  On  the  ceiling 
were  the  crests  of  the  Scotch  nobility.  Having 
obtained  a  permit  to  visit  Holyrood  Palace,  which  is 
closed  to  all  but  Americans  and  Australians  when  the 
Lord  High  Commissioner  is  here,  we  went  on  our 
way,  stopping  to  see  the  house  where  John  Knox 
lived,  a  rambling,  shambling  old  place,  very  quaint, 
and  overflowing  with  history. 

In  front  of  the  famous  Holyrood  Palace  aiul 
Abbey  is  a  richly  ornamented  fountain.  Two  things 
have  impressed  me  all  over  Great  Britain — the  teni 
perance  coffee-houses  and  hotels,  and  the  number  of 
fountains.  I  am  going  to  begin  a  crusade  along  this 
line  when  I  return  home. 

In  the  history  of  the  palace  the  principal  events 
are  those  connected  with  Mary.  Queen  of  Scots.  Her 
apartments  on  the  second  floor  contain  her  bed  with 
its  embroidered  cover  worked  with  her  own  hands, 
and  a  work-box  which  the  guide  opened  and  showed 
us.  We  looked  up  the  narrow  staircase  down  which 
the  murderers  of  Rizzio  came,  and  some  dark  spots  on 
the  floor  are  said  to  be  his  blood.  The  gallery  is 
filled  with  poor  pictures  that  claim  to  represent  the 


A   YOUNG    WOMAN  JOURNALIST. 


77 


Scottish  kings.  The  palace  is  only  occupied  ten  days 
m  the  year  by  the  I^ord  High  Commissioner,  Lora 
Tweeddale.  We  saw  the  table  set  for  state  dinner 
and  the  little  pages  in  knee-breeches  and  powdered 
wigs. 

Holyrood  Abbey  was  founded  by  David  I.  in  1128. 
In  it  are  buried,  among  others,  David  II.,  James  II. 
and  Queen,  James  V.  and  Queen,  and  Lord  Darnley. 

Returning  home  we  took  the  train  for  Glasgow  , 
stayed  over  night  in  the  St.  Denis  Hotel,  which  is 
very  fine.  Such  a  funny,  little  priest  looking  man 
answered  all  our  inquiries.  The  large  hotels  are 
perfect  as  to  appointments.  All  have  such  nice 
gardens,  and  flowers  are  everywhere. 

June  3. — The  weather  looked  very  threatening, 
but  we  were  up  bright  and  early,  and  off  for  the 
lyakes. 


^^^^. 


July,  /S90. 

[//>*" HIS  morning  the  "Ems"  reached 
Bremen  House.  A  tender  came 
down  the  river  to  meet  us,  and  after 
the  usual  custom-house  fraud  had 
been  enacted  we  took  the  train  for  Bre- 
men, a  tw^o  hours'  ride.  Arrived  in  the  fine 
station  we  had  lunch  in  the  waiting-room  where  sat 
men  and  women  all  drinking  beer.  How  awful  it 
seemed  to  me,  with  my  enlightenment  on  the  subject, 
no  one  will  ever  know  !  At  one  o'clock  we  took  the 
train  for  Berlin  (seven  hours).  The  country  through 
which  we  passed  was  not  especially  interesting  ;  very 
like  our  prairies,  with  now  and  then  a  beautiful  field 
of  poppies.  The  forests,  too,  were  dark  and  carefully 
kept,  but  I  longed  to  plunge  into  the  heart  of  the 
Black  Forest.  Everything  is  clean,  of  course.  Stolid 
and  solid  are  the  German  characteristics.  The  houses 
did  not  look  as  odd  as  I  expected,  but  the  roofs  of 
red  tiles  or  thatched  and  covered  with  moss,  were 
in  keeping  with  my  German  traditions. 

How  glad  I  was  to  see  Mrs.  Mary  B.  Willard  at 
the  station  !  We  took  carriages  and  were  soon  at 
her  home.  The  street  is  very  quiet  and  pretty  and 
the  entrance  hall  imposing  ;  all   marble  and   paint- 


A    YOUNG   WOMAN   JOURNALIST.  79 

ings.  Mrs.  Willard  has  the  third  floor,  and  every- 
thing is  homelike  and  artistic.  After  a  nice  supper 
we  went  to  bed  very  tired.  A  letter  from  dear  Helen 
awaited  my  coming.  I  thank  God  hourly  that  all  are 
well  at  home. 

P.  S. — I  should  have  said  droschkc  iox  carriage,  and 
Stage  for  floor. 

July  2. — I  did  not  awaken  until  ten  o'clock.  En- 
jo3ed  the  German  breakfast  very  much  and  was 
ready  to  start  to  Potsdam  thereafter.  It  is  a  city  of 
48,500  inhabitants  and  the  capital  of  Brandenburg. 
The  town  is  of  Slavonic  origin  but  was  of  no  impor- 
tance until  the  Grand  Elector  founded  his  palace 
there.  It  is  indebted  for  its  modern  splendor  to 
Frederick  the  Great,  who  generally  resided  there. 
After  a  nice  dinner  served  on  a  balcony  overlooking 
the  river  Werder,  where  the  white  swans  were  sailing 
up  and  down,  we  went  to  the  palace  ;  in  front  of  it,  is 
a  lime  tree  where  petitioners  used  to  station  them- 
selves to  attract  the  attention  of  Frederick  the  Great 
who  could  watch  unobserved  from  his  office,  the 
walls  of  which  are  covered  with  mirrors.  The  table 
in  this  room  is  very  curious  ;  the  center  can  be  let 
down  by  means  of  a  trap-door,  and  the  different 
courses  served  without  servants.  Here  it  was  the  old 
Emperor  could  see  his  friends  in  private.  I  am  glad 
/  am  not  so  watched. 

The  rooms  are  very  handsome;  silver  and  gold 
everywhere.  The  walls  are  covered  with  exquisite 
gold  cloth,  and  silver  and  gold  figures  and  vines 
adorn  ceilings  and  walls. 


80  A    YOUNG   WOMAN  JOURNALIST. 

A  beautiful  picture  of  "  Christ  weeping  over  Jeru- 
salem "  attracted  me  and  I  longed  to  sit  before  it  for 
hours.  He  weeps  over  us  to-daj',  just  the  same,  I 
doubt  not. 

Next,  we  visited  the  Friedenskirche,  or  "Church 
of  Peace."  There  is  also  a  palace  connected  with 
it,  with  beautiful  gardens.  We  walked  around  the 
palisades  from  which  are  the  most  charming  views. 
The  mausoleum  of  the  late  Emperor,  who  reigned  but 
three  months,  erected  by  the  Empress  Victoria,  is  be- 
ing built,  and  just  in  front  of  it  stands  a  copy  of 
Thorwaldsen's  "Risen  ChrivSt,"  which  almost  made 
me  kneel  before  it.  The  original  is  at  Copenhagen 
but  it  can  not  be  more  wonderful  than  this.  Christ 
stands  with  His  hands  outstretched  as  in  blessing, 
and  the  expression  is  divine. 

In  this  church  are  buried  Frederick  William  IV. 
and  his  queen,  Elizabeth.  The  drive  to  the  palace  of 
"  Sans-Souci,"  was  very  beautiful  and  interesting. 
We  saw  the  old  mill  which  Frederick  wanted  to  buy 
and  the  miller  refused  to  sell.  The  king  demanded  it, 
but  the  miller  refused  his  request,  and  finally  the  mat- 
ter went  to  court  ana  was  decided  against  Frederick, 
who  was  great  enough  to  recognize  justice  and  sub- 
mit to  it.  He  became  a  warm  friend  of  the  miller  ard 
did  much  for  him. 

The  "Sans-Souci"  (without  care — place  of  rest 
and  pleasure)  is  not  very  pretentious  but  was  a 
favorite  residence  of  the  old  monarch.  Here  Voltaire 
visited  him,  and,  after  their  falling  out,  Frederick 
had  one  room  decorated  with  monkeys,  parrots, 
peacocks,    and    everything    which     represents    folly 


y  v.'''4j 
■I  .•<  Jl* 


^cU^etJ'c 


A   YOUNG   WOMAN  JOURNALIST.  8 1 

and  vanity,  in  derision  of  the  writer.  Many  of  the 
personal  belongings  of  the  Emperor  are  just  as  he 
left  them.  In  his  bedroom  is  the  clock  he  used  to 
wind,  and  which  stopped  at  his  death.  His  portrait, 
for  which  he  sat  but  one  hour,  and  that  the  only  time 
he  ever  sat  for  his  picture,  hangs  in  this  same  room. 

After  the  Seven  Years'  War  the  people  all  said 
Frederick  the  Great  had  made  himself  poor,  and  to 
prove  he  had  not  exhausted  his  finances  he  built  the 
new  palace  which  is  the  summer  home  of  the  present 
Emperor.  This,  and  all  the  Potsdam  palaces,  far 
exceed  the  English  in  beauty  and  elegance.  The 
' '  Grotto  Saloon ' '  is  the  most  beautiful  room  I  ever 
saw  ;  shells,  priceless  stones  of  all  kinds  and  from  all 
over  the  world,  cover  the  room  and  are  in  all  shapes 
and  designs.  By  gaslight  the  scene  must  be  bewitch- 
ing. Every  room  was  even  more  grand  than  I  had 
expected  a  royal  home  to  be.  The  floors  are  hand- 
somely inlaid,  the  ceilings  painted  by  great  masters 
and  their  choicest  works  hang  upon  the  walls. 

Our  last  visit  was  to  the  Garrison  Church,  where 
lie  the  remains  of  Frederick  the  Great  and  of  his 
father,  Frederick  William  I.  On  their  caskets  were 
huge  wreaths  of  myrtle.  When  Napoleon,  after  his 
victories  in  Prussia,  stood  before  the  tomb  of  the  great 
Emperor,  he  said,  ''Wer&yoii  alive  /should  not  be 
here. ' ' 

The  flags  carried  in  battle  adorn  the  church,  and 
everything  breathes  of  war.  Soldiers  are  everywhere, 
2in<i  \hQ  people  pay  for  all  this  beauty  and  pomp  and 
display.  Would  that  it  were  more  evenly  distributed  ! 
Instead  of  the  rulers  having  a  score  of  homes  they 


82  A   YOUNG   WOMAN  JOURNALIST. 

seldom  occupy,  I  would  have  the  peasants  own  their 
homes,  for  they  would  eujoy  and  appreciate  them. 

Julys. — "God  bless  the  man  who  first  invented 
sleep,"  I  say  every  morning,  for  no  matter  how  tired 
I  am  when  I  go  to  bed,  I  awaken  fresh,  and  read}^  for 
another  day  of  beauty  and  delight. 

This  morning  we  visited  the  museum  and  gallerj^ 
an  admirable  building  in  the  Greek  style,  the  finest  in 
Berlin.  In  the  upper  ve.stibule  is  a  copy  of  the  cele- 
brated Warwick  Vase.  A  beautiful  bronze  of  a  boj^ 
praying  caught  my  eye,  as  all  such  subjects  do.  I 
was  glad  to  find  the  tapestry  after  the  famous  ones  in 
the  Vatican  by  Raphael. 

The  importance  of  this  gallery  consists  in  its  repre- 
sentation of  the  various  schools  and  epochs,  rather 
than  in  its  possession  of  masterpieces,  and  conse- 
quently it  is  of  great  value  to  art  students.  Among 
the  paintings  I  liked  best  were  Jairus'  Daughter,  by 
Richter  ;  The  March  of  Death,  by  Spangenburg  ;  Pur- 
suit of  Pleasure,  Henneberg  ;  Jupiter  and  lo,  Correg- 
gio;  Isaac  blessing  Jacob;  Titian's  Daughter;  St. 
Anthony  and  Infant  Christ,  by  Murillo;  and  Kaul- 
bach's  six  great  paintings,  including  the  Refor- 
mation. 

Every  room  and  the  fine  halls  with  dados  of  figures 
representing  German  history,  were  worthy  of  study. 
Every  great  man  who  belongs  to  the  Fadcrland  has  a 
place.     I  longed  to  sit  down  and  study  every  group. 

After  lunch,  in  a  bower  of  green,  we  went  through 
"Unterden  Linden"  and  into  shops.  I  shall  never 
forget  that  beautiful  street  as  I  saw  it  to-daj'.  The 
houses  were  all  decorated   with   flags  and  flowers  and 


A   YOUNG   WOMAN  JOURNALIST.  83 

bunting.  How  good  the  stars  and  stripes  looked  ! 
I  almost  shouted  for  joy  when  I  saw  them  and  real- 
ized what  it  means  to  be  an  American.  A  drive  in 
a  droschke  completed  our  delightful  day.  We  passed 
down  the  I^inden  and  over  the  beautiful  bridge  which 
spans  the  Spree  ;  eight  handsome  statues  adorn  the 
bridge,  illustrative  of  the  life  of  a  warrior. 

The  palace  of  the  Empress  Frederick  is  large  and 
handsome  but  she  does  not  occupy  it  often,  not  being 
fond  of  Berlin.  I  looked  long  at  the  plain  window 
where  the  old  Emperor  used  to  stand  every  noon  when 
the  guards  were  changed  and  acknowledge  the  enthu- 
siastic cheers  of  his  people,  who  worshiped  him. 

The  great  statue  of  Frederick  the  Great,  by  Ranch, 
is  truly  the  grandest  monument  of  its  kind  in  Europe. 
The  foundation  stone  was  laid  May  31,  1840,  the  one 
hundredth  anniversary  of  the  accession  of  Frederick 
to  the  throne  of  Prussia.  The  Opera  House  is  also  on 
this  fine  street.  We  passed  through  the  Branden- 
burg Gate  into  the  Tliiergarten.  I  did  want  to  drive 
through  the  center  passage  ;  the  way  Europeans  have 
of  reserving  the  best  of  everything  for  royalty  rather 
goes  "agin"  me.  Over  the  gate  are  four  magnifi- 
cent bronze  horses  and  a  chariot ;  a  woman  is  driving. 
This  is  a  favorite  ornament  of  the  Germans,  and 
Napoleon  was  compelled  to  return  the  horse  he  "bor- 
rowed" during  his  little  visit  in  1S05. 

The  Thiergarten  covers  six  hundred  acres  and 
is  a  charming  bit  of  nature  in  the  heart  of  the  cap- 
ital city.  I  have  never  so  nearly  realized  my  ideal 
of  a  park,  for  it  combines  the  character  of  a  natural 
forest  with  the  beauties  of  a  public  park.     The  river 


84  A   YOUNG   WOMAN  JOURNALIST. 

winds  ill  and  out,  and  the  great  trees  are  close  to- 
gether, forming  a  dense  shade.  The  Monument  of 
Victory  towers  over  all.  It  commemorates  the  great 
victories  of  1870-71.  From  the  top,  a  gold  female 
figure  seems  about  to  fly  away,  and  in  her  hand  is 
the  laurel  wreath,  ever  present  in  this  land  of 
soldiers. 

Home  for  a  nice  supper,  and  then  I  went  with  dear 
Mrs.  Mary  Clement  Leavitt  to  a  meeting  conducted 
by  Baron  Knoblsdorf,  who  is  at  the  head  of  temper- 
ance work  in  Berlin.  I  looked  at  the  faces  of  those 
people  and  noted  how  care-worn  they  were.  They 
have  not  the  independent  air  and  generally  happy 
look  of  our  working  people.  Are  they  just  as  con- 
tent, I  wonder  ? 

Mrs.  Leavitt  spoke  well,  and  a  good  minister 
interpreted  for  her.  He  was  the  one  hundred  and 
ninety-eighth  person  who  had  translated  her  holy 
message,  and  thirty-eight  different  tongues  have  heard 
the  story.  What  a  heroine  she  is  !  Why  is  not  a 
monument  erected  to  her,  because  instead  of  killing 
thousands  she  is  saving  thousands  of  souls?  It  was 
very  interesting  to  see  the  reverence  shown  her. 
The  Baron  kissed  her  hand  and  the  entire  audience 
attended  us  to  the  carriage. 

July  /. — Independence  Day,  and  I  am  far,  Hir  from 
my  own,  my  native  land  !  I  met  some  Germans 
with  flags  in  their  pockets  and  I  wanted  to  embrace 
them  on  the  spot.  Instead  of  firing  crackers,  etc., 
we  visited  the  palace  of  the  Emperor  of  Germany.  It 
is  the  finest  I  have  seen,  so  far.  At  the  portal  to- 
ward the  lyUStgarten  are  the  Horse  Tamers,  by  Baron 


A   YOUNG    WOMAN   JOURNALIST.  85 

Clodl,  of  St.  Petersburg.  The  first  court  is  adorned 
with  the  bronze  St.  George  and  the  Dragon.  The 
palace  contains  six  hundred  rooms  and  is  old  and  not 
very  attractive-looking  on  the  outside.  The  decora- 
tions of  the  rooms  are  most  elaborate.  The  walls  are 
old  gold  and  silver  brocade  and  pictures  ;  statues  are 
in  every  nook  and  corner.  The  long  picture  gallery 
contains  portraits  and  scenes  from  Prussian  history. 
The  old  Emperor's  picture  is  everywhere.  The 
white  salon,  all  in  white  marble,  is  most  beautiful, 
and  the  chapel  in  the  midst  of  so  much  splendor,  very 
restful.  I  sat  in  one  of  the  chairs  designed  for  the 
royal  family,  and  thanked  God  I  belonged  to  the 
people.  This  palace  and  the  one  at  Baireuth  are 
haunted  by  a  "white  lady"  who  always  appears  to 
portend  the  death  of  a  member  of  the  house  of 
Hohenzollern. 

I  wish  the  Emperor  and  Empress  and  their  fine 
boys  were  at  home  ;  I  should  like  to  see  them.  Their 
pictures  are  everywhere  and  very  "cute"  little  lads 
the  boys  seem  to  be. 

We  ascended  to  the  state  apartments  by  an 
inclined  plane,  and  here  donned  felt  slippers.  It  was 
very  funny  to  see  men,  women  and  children  sliding 
around.  A  very  economical  way  of  polishing  the 
floors. 

Our  next  pilgrimage  was  to  Charlottenburg.  The 
palace  was  the  home  of  the  good  Queen  Louise,  and 
it  was  here  in  1805  she  knelt  before  Napoleon  and 
begged  him  to  be  kind  to  her  people  and  command 
his  soldiers  not  to  ravish  the  city.  He  replied  very 
roughly   and   she  was  so  wounded   that  never  after 


86  A   VOTING    WOMAN   JOURNALIST. 

could  she  live  in  the  palace  where  the  scene  was 
enacted.  I  have  always  had  a  great  admiration  for 
Napoleon,  but  it  is  growing  less  and  less  as  I  hear  of 
his  unkind  treatment  of  those  about  him. 

Up  a  beautiful  avenue  of  pines  we  walked  until 
we  reached  the  mausoleum.  The  situation  in  the 
heart  of  a  grand  forest  and  garden,  away  from  the 
rush  of  the  city,  is  most  pleasing.  The  glass  in  the 
windows  is  so  arranged  as  to  throw  a  purple  light  on 
the  most  exquisite  marbles  imaginable,  the  images  of 
the  royal  pair,  Frederick  William  III.  and  his  wife, 
Queen  I,ouise.  The  figures  are  recumbent  and  were 
executed  by  Ranch.  Nothing  could  be  more  perfect  ; 
the  hands  seemed  almost  to  move.  I  felt  inspired 
and  that  I  was  on  holy  ground.  Queen  Louise, 
because  of  her  goodness,  was  truly  noble.  The  heart 
of  Frederick  William  IV.  is  placed  at  the  feet  of  his 
parents,  in  a  marble  casket. 

After  dinner  we  took  the  five  o'clock  train  for 
Dresden.  Before  we  left  the  table  Mrs.  Leavitt  led  us 
in  singing  "My  country,  'tis  of  thee,"  and  gave  us  a 
regular  Fourth-of-July  oration. 

July  ^.—Wq:  arrived  in  Dresden  at  ten  o'clock  last 
eve,  and  came  directly  to  Weber's  Hotel,  a  very 
homelike  place.  Early  this  morning  we  went  to  the 
Gallery  and  straight  to  the  Sistine  Madonna.  How 
I  have  longed  to  see  the  Divine  Mother  and  Child  !  I 
could  hardly  realize  I  was  really  there  when  I  stood 
before  it.  No  language  can  express  how  it  thrilled 
and  filled  me,  and  satisfied  me.  It  leaves  nothing  to 
be  desired.  As  I  sat  and  gazed,  this  came  to  me  as 
the  artist's  idea:     The  green  curtains,   representing 


A    YOUNG    WOMAN   JOURNALIST.  87 

the  "something"  which  shuts  from  us  the  heavenly 
world,  are  withdrawn,  and  with  majestic  grace  Mary 
comes  forth  bearing  in  her  arms  the  Divine  Child, 
which  she  clasps  with  real,  motherly  devotion.  There 
is  something  indescribable  in  her  countenance  —  a 
far-away  look  in  the  eyes  as  if  she  saw  what  was 
coming  to  her  darling  Babe,  but  for  the  sake  of  the 
salvation  of  the  world  she  was  willing  to  give  Him 
up.  The  Child  rests  naturally  in  its  mother's  arms, 
His  lofty  mission  is  foreshadowed  in  His  childish 
features,  while  the  depth  and  majesty  of  His  eyes 
express  His  divinity  as  the  Redeemer  of  the  world. 

lyiibke  describes  the  picture  thus  :  "Here  Raphael 
has  united  his  deepest  thought,  his  profoundest  in- 
sight, his  completest  loveliness,  which  is,  and  will 
continue  to  be,  the  apex  of  all  religious  art." 

I  almost  forgot  to  notice  the  dignity  of  Pope 
Sixtus,  the  devotion  of  Saint  Barbara,  or  the  rapt 
expression  of  the  two  beautiful  angel  children,  in  my 
adoration  of  the  supreme  figures.  A  whole  religion 
is  bound  up  in  those  faces.  I  could  hardly  tear 
myself  away,  and  yet  every  one  of  the  two  thousand 
four  hundred  paintings  is  a  painter's  treasure. 
Among  my  favorites  are  :  — 

Abraham  about  to  Offer  up  Isaac,  by  Andrea  del  Sarto. 

The  Madonna  of  St.  Francis,  Correggio. 

The  Holy  Night,  Correggio. 

The  Repentant  Magdalene,  Correggio. 

Titian's  Daughter  Lavinia. 

Tribute  Money,  Titian. 

The  Woman  Taken  in  Adultery,  Lotto. 

Head  of  Christ  with  Crown  of  Thorns,  Guido  Reni. 


88  A   YOUNG   WOMAX  JOURNALIST. 

The  Expulsion  of  Hagar  by  Abraham,  Luca  Giordano. 

St.  Cecilia,  Carlo  Dolci. 

St.  Anthon}-  Caressing  the  Infant  Christ,  Danedi. 

Mary  :Magdaleu  in  Her  Cell,  Waited  upon  by  Angels. 

Two  Sons  of  Rubens. 

Children  of  Charles  I.,  by  Van  Dyck. 

I  must  not  forget  to  record  the  history  of  Raphael's 
inspiration.  It  is  said  he  was  fascinated  with  a  beau- 
tiful and  pure  girl,  Fornarina,  who  also  loved  him, 
and  her  face  is  the  original  of  the  Madonna.  A 
princess  fell  in  love  with  him  and  wanted  to  win  him. 
He  was  told  Fornarina  was  dead,  at  w^hich  he  became 
so  nearly  insane  that  in  order  to  save  his  life  she  was 
restored  to  him.  The  Sistine  Madonna  was  painted 
about  1518,  for  the  monastery  of  San  Sisto  Piacenza, 
Italy,  and  was  purchased  by  King  Augustus  III.  for 
$45,000.  It  therefore  belongs  to  the  Kingdom  of 
Saxony,  of  which  Dresden  is  the  capital.  The  king 
lives  in  the  palace  next  the  church,  goes  cut  walk- 
ing on  the  street  and  is  very  common  and  friendly, 
I  am  told.  The  city  lies  on  both  sides  the  Elbe  and 
is  a  favorite  residence  for  Americans.  Its  architecture 
and  its  art  collections  have  given  it  the  name  of  the 
"German  Florence."  In  the  winter  the  opera  is 
the  finest  in  the  world,  and  the  Hof  Theater  one  of 
the  finest  in  Europe. 

We  saw  many  students  and  soldiers  with  scarred 
faces.  How  proud  they  are  of  the  saber  cuts  obtained 
in  dueling  !  They  care  more  for  that  mark  of  distinc- 
tion than  for  the  nobler  one— a  spotless  character. 

July  6. — Sunday — a  day  of  rest  it  has  been,  indeed. 
In  the  morning  we  attended  the  Court  church.     The 


A    YOUNG   WOMAN  JOURNALIST.  89 

music  was  most  beautiful  and  the  altar  very  fine;  nine 
elegant  silver  candlesticks  were  on  each  side  the  cen- 
tral throne,  which  was  also  of  silver.  I  took  another 
glance  at  my  beloved  pictures,  then  came  home  to 
dinner  and  my  writing. 

A  most  beautiful  walk  on  the  Bruhl  Terrace  was 
a  fitting  finish  of  a  delightful  day.  Coming  around 
the  Gallery  we  saw  before  us  a  broad  flight  of  steps 
adorned  with  four  gilded  groups  representing  Night, 
Morning,  Noon  and  Evening.  The  walk  along  the 
river  for  half  a  mile  is  lined  with  trees  trimmed  flat 
like  the  roof  of  a  house.  The  sunset  was  glorious, 
and  as  the  last  rays  touched  the  gallery  and  gilded 
the  dome  of  the  church,  I  felt  nothing  could  be  more 
enchanting,  even  in  Italy.  We  looked  into  the  beer 
gardens,  a  feature  of  German5^  A  band  was  playing 
and  whole  families  were  sitting  under  the  trees,  drink- 
ing and  eating  the  beer  and  brodscheii.  Such  com- 
mon, care-worn  people  are  the  workers.  To  see  the 
women  with  huge  baskets  on  their  backs  and  the  meti 
without  any  burdens  makes  my  blood  boil.  The 
women  and  dogs  are  the  horses  in  this  country.  We 
saw  hundreds  of  families  land  from  the  pleasure 
boats  ;  they  had  been  spending  the  day  in  the  Saxon 
Alps. 

I  love  to  study  the  different  faces.  While  sitting 
before  the  Sistine  Madonna  I  noted  its  effect  upon  the 
different  types  that  came  to  see  it.  There  was  the 
business  man  who  squinted  his  eyes  and  wondered 
how  much  it  would  be  worth  ;  the  artist  who  caught 
the  inspiration  and  went  home  to  dream  of  winning 
fame  and  a  name  by  a  masterpiece  equally  great ;  the 


go  A    YOUNG    WOMAN   JOURNALIST. 

tired  working- worn  an,  whose  life  knows  no  beauty, 
gazed  awe-struck,  while  her  young  daughter  was 
thrilled  and  her  soul  inspired  by  the  divine  painting. 
The  soldier  in  his  trappings  of  war  came  also,  and  his 
turbulent  spirit  for  the  moment  was  stilled.  The 
skeptic  forgot  to  sneer  and  the  trifler  to  laugh.  Oh, 
Christ,  it  is  Thy  spirit  in  art  that  makes  it  divine  ! 

Hoffman's  Christ  in  the  Temple  seems  to  me  to 
be  as  marvelous  as  Raphael's  great  work.  The  figure 
of  the  boy  Christ  radiates  light,  his  white  robe  shines. 
Every  figure  is  perfect  and  the  velvet  of  the  priests' 
robes  almost  makes  you  believe  in  the  old  legend  of 
the  birds  eating  the  painter's  cherries.  The  Woman 
Taken  in  Adulter^'-  is  also  a  wonderful  work.  Hoff- 
man is  yet  a  teacher  in  the  Dresden  Art  School. 
How  he   must  enjoy  the  just  appreciation  his  work 


receives 


Dresden  is  a  beautiful  city  and  I  shall  never  forget 
my  stay  here.  The  Alt  Mart  is  most  interesting. 
Hundreds  of  women  were  there  with  their  flower- 
stands,  offering  choice  plants  arranged  in  every  kind 
of  a  design. 

July  /.  —  A  ride  this  morning  about  this  lovely 
city,  which  in  some  ways  grows  upon  one  and  in 
others  disappoints,  and  we  were  off  for  Vienna.  Before 
starting,  I  sat  among  the  poor  women  who  were  wait- 
ing in  the  station  and  tried  to  put  myself  in  their 
places,  I  bent  my  back  to  the  heavy  burdens  and  in 
imagination  shared  their  weary  lives  until  my  heart 
was  almost  broken,  and  I  cried  as  I  have  not  for 
months.  I  do  not  wonder  Christ  died  to  save  and 
elevate  them.     I  should  count  it  a  joy  to  la}'  down 


A    YOUNG    WOMAN    JOURNALIST.  9 1 

1115^  life  if  thereby  theirs  could  be  brightened.  Miss 
Morgan  comforted  me  by  saying  that,  after  all,  joy 
and  sorrow  are  very  evenly  distributed,  and  I  believe 
they  are.  What  responsibilities  are  mine  ;  no  Ger- 
man washwoman,  if  she  could,  would  exchange 
places  with  me,  I  am  sure. 

Our  route  to  Vienna  lay  along  the  Elbe  for  many 
miles,  and  we  were  in  a  constant  state  of  exclama- 
tion, so  rare  and  picturesque  was  the  scenery.  The 
rocks  towered  high  above  the  bank  and  resembled 
the  Palisades  on  the  Hudson.  The  bright,  yellow 
stone  would  be  covered  with  tall  pine  trees  on  the  top, 
and  now  and  then  a  village  nestled  at  the  foot  of  a 
mountain  covered  with  dark  green  fir  trees,  making 
the  most  effective  background  imaginable  for  the 
red-tiled  houses  with  their  eight-eyed  roofs.  At 
Tetschen  we  crossed  the  German  border.  The  Alps, 
I  fancy,  are  not  much  finer  than  the  mountains  of 
Austria,  which  we  saw  outlined  against  a  wonderful 
sunset-painted  sky,  adorned  with  castles,  from  the 
towers  of  v/hich  floated  the  national  colors. 

At  the  queer  little  stations  I  watched  the  people. 
A  bride,  with  only  a  wreath  of  flowers  on  her  head, 
came  a  few  miles  to  visit  her  friends  and  was  wel- 
comed by  kindly  men  and  women,  barefooted  and 
bareheaded.  Love  and  its  fulfillment  are  the  same 
the  world  around. 

What  historic  ground  we  passed  over  !  Every 
foot  of  ground,  could  it  speak,  would  tell  of  battles 
fought,  of  the  farewell  words  of  dying  heroes  whis- 
pered only  in  the  ear.  of  Mother  Earth  ;  of  shouts  of 
victory  and  cursings  of  defeat.     I  doubt  not  every 


92  A   YOUXG    WOMAX   JOURXALIST. 

acre  is  the  grave  of  scores  of  brave  men  and  true,  who 
offered  up  their  lives,  not  for  freedom,  but  to  gratify 
the  ambition  or  greed  of  some  ruler. 

How  beautiful  and  smiling  was  the  landscape 
as  I  viewed  it !  Yellow  wheat,  thick  with  the  bright, 
red  poppies  and  the  blue  corn-flower— a  vast  garden 
as  far  as  the  eye  could  reach. 

A  rather  comfortable  night  in  our  compartment 
and  at  7:30  we  saw  Vienna,  situated  on  the  blue 
Danube  and  said  to  be  the  most  beautiful  city  in 
Europe  ;  and  such  we  believe  it  to  be.  The  capital 
of  the  Austrian  Empire  lies  in  a  valley  surrounded  by 
hills,  and  its  buildings  are  magnificent.  Such  a 
thing  as  a  tumble-down  house  or  dirty  street  is  un- 
known ;  all  are  of  white  stone  or  stucco,  which  has 
the  same  appearance,  and  decorated  with  most  beauti- 
ful statues  and  carvings.  Often  a  palisade  or  court 
extends  around  a  building,  and  inside  the  court  are 
flowers,  fountains  and  handsome  statues.  Indeed, 
these  adornments  are  everywhere  and  parks  without 
number  form  a  green  background  to  the  white  build- 
ings. The  people  look  comfortable  and  happy  ;  not 
so  common  as  in  Germany.  The  women  all  have 
fine  forms  and  dress  well  ;  they  are  very  fine-look- 
ing, as  a  rule.  The  shops  are  the  most  elegant  in 
Europe,  or  the  world,  I  have  been  told,  and  can 
readily  believe  it.  The  goods  are  most  artistically 
displayed. 

Our  pension,  6  Universitate  Strasse,  is  kept  by 
Frau  Bonforth  and  her  sister,  ladies  of  culture.  It 
is  easy  to  fancy  they  have  known  better  days  ;  their 
bearing  and  conversation  would  do  credit  to  a  court 


A   YOUNG   WOMAN   JOURNALIST.  93 

circle.  They  speak  German,  English  and  French 
fluently.  Opposite  us  at  table  are  a  Greek  count 
and  his  wife.  I  can  only  think  of  Othello  when  I 
look  at  him.  The  countess  has  the  large,  liquid  eyes 
of  which  poets  sing.  It  is  very  interesting  to  meet 
these  different  nationalities.  I  am  sure  we  have 
much  to  learn  from  other  countries,  as  Minister 
Phelps  said  in  his  Fourth  of  July  speech,  which  I 
cut  from  the  Berlin  Register. 

After  breakfast,  which  all  over  the  Continent 
consists  of  coffee  and  rolls,  we  went  to  the  Imperial 
Palace,  the  Hofburg,  the  residence  of  Francis  Joseph, 
and  into  the  Treasury.  I  could  but  note  the  fact 
that  not  until  the  glorious  reign  of  Maria  Theresa, 
1747,  were  the  royal  treasures  arranged  and  classified. 
It  took  a  woman  to  think  of  preserving  them  thus. 

I  could  hardly  believe  I  was  walking  over  the 
same  stones  a  long  line  of  noble  men  and  women 
have  trod,  for  the  Hofburg  was  built  in  the  thirteenth 
century.  We  speak  of  hundreds  of  years  as  if  they 
were  but  days.  I  can  believe,  as  ne^^er  before,  now 
that  I  have  seen  the  progress  of  the  world,  that  at 
last  (adapting  the  poet's  words), 

"  In  the  paths  uutrod, 

And  the  long  days  of  God, 
The  world  shall  yet  be  led, 
Its  heart  be  comforted." 

In  the  first  room,  as  we  entered,  we  saw  watches 
of  all  kinds  and  description  ;  many  were  made  in  the 
seventeenth  century  ;  also  clocks,  large  and  small, 
gold,   silver  and  jeweled  ;  many  are  worth   a  king's 


94  A    YOUNG    WOMAN    JOURNALIST. 

ransom.  The  different  rooms  contain  cases  filled  with 
vases,  tankards,  bottles,  dishes  of  all  kinds,  busts, 
inkstands,  and  hundreds  of  rare  and  costly  things  it 
would  fill  a  volume  to  name  ;  many  are  presents  from 
other  monarchs  to  the  ruler  of  the  House  of  Haps- 
burg,  which  has  reigned  over  Austria  since  1276. 
I  will  not  try  to  describe  this  collection,  which  to  my 
mind  is  far  ahead  of  the  English  crown  jewels. 

After  dinner  we  went  to  ride  and  were  more  than 
ever  impressed  with  the  magnificence  of  this  city. 
The  streets  were  as  white  as  a  marble  table,  and  no- 
where is  there  any  sign  of  poverty  or  dirt.  Looking 
through  doorways  we  caught  glimpses  of  beautiful 
courts  and  quaint  corners,  like  those  in  Dresden,  only 
not  vine  covered  as  there.  The  Ringstrasse  is  a  fine 
boulevard  occupying  the  site  of  the  old  fortification 
wall,  and  around  it  are  the  public  buildings,  univer- 
sity, etc. 

We  were  in  St.  Stephen's  church  at  noon  and  saw 
all  the  poor  and  rich  at  prayers.  The  church  is  one 
of  the  noblest  Gothic  edifices  in  Europe  ;  the  roof  is 
of  colored  tiles  and  with  the  sun  shining  on  it  looked 
as  if  set  with  jewels. 

It  was  pitiful  to  watch  the  poor  people  before  the 
picture  of  Mary  and  the  Child.  They  brought  flowers 
and  their  mites,  and  one  poor  soul  brought  a  new  can- 
dle to  place  among  the  fifteen  kept  burning.  After 
kneeling  on  the  stone  floor  they  would  kiss  the 
grating  which  covers  the  picture  and  go  away  com- 
forted. We  saw  hunters  from  the  mountains 
and  all  classes  meet  before  that  shrine  on  an  equal 
plane. 


A   YOUNG   WOMAN  JOURNAWST.  95 

In  the  Volksgarten  we  found  the  Temple  of  The- 
seus, containing  Canova's  marble  group  of  Theseus 
slaying  Minotaur,  typical  of  barbarism  and  civiliza- 
tion. The  figures  are  wonderfully  executed.  The 
muscles  are  as  if  of  iron.  In  the  Augustine  church 
is  Canova's  monument  to  the  Archduchess  Maria 
Christina,  one  of  his  noblest  works. 

July  9. — We  spent  the  morning  in  the  art  gal- 
lery. It  is  beautifully  situated  and  the  views  from 
the  window  are  very  fine,  but  the  pictures  did  not 
come  up  to  my  expectatious.  There  are  no  great 
masterpieces  and  only  a  few  paintings  attracted  me. 
Varottaire's  Woman  taken  in  Adultery  can  be  com- 
pared with  Hoffman's.  There  are  the  same  rich  col- 
oring and  expressive  faces.  Titian's  Holy  Family 
is  fine,  also  Raphael's  Madonna  ;  Murillo's  St, 
John  with  the  Lamb  is  the  most  like  a  nineteenth 
century  youngster  that  I  have  seen,  soft  curls  and  a 
real  child  expression. 

The  new  Rathhaus,  or  Parliament  building,  was 
completed  in  1883,  and  cost  ;^75o,ooo.  There  is  no 
such  handsome  government  building  elsewhere  in  the 
world.  It  is  lavishly  adorned  with  life-sized  statues, 
figures  being  placed  at  regular  intervals  on  the  top, 
European  fashion.  The  Votive  church  is  a  fine 
Gothic  structure  with  two  slender,  open  towers.  The 
stone  is  said  to  be  all  petrified  moss. 

Among  the  unique  things  I  saw  in  this  fascinating 
city  was  a  street  sprinkler,  which  consists  of  a  huge 
barrel  on  a  wagon  with  a  tiny  sprinkler  behind,  which 
is  swung  back  and  forth  by  a  man  walking  and  hav- 


g6  A   YOUNG   WOMAN    JOURNALIST. 

ing  hold  of  a  rope   fastened  to  it.     Oh,  for  Yankee 
inventiveness,  ye  Viennese  ! 

The  Capuchin  church  contains  the  burial-vault  of 
the  imperial  family.  We  rang  the  bell  and  an  old 
monk  came  to  the  door  dressed  in  a  long,  brown  gown 
with  a  rope  about  his  waist.  I  wondered  if  he  and 
the  others  we  saw  really  beat  themselves  and  wear 
sackcloth.  A  monk  escorted  us  into  the  tombs.  How 
musty  and  ghostlike  they  seemed  !  I  felt  almost  as 
if  I  was  entering  my  own  grave,  instead  of  that  of  the 
royal  house  of  Hapsburg.  The  bodies  are  all  in  huge 
silver  caskets,  elaborately  decorated. 

We  spent  the  afternoon  in  the  shops,  which  are 
very  fine,  as  I  have  before  remarked.  I  was  not  com- 
pelled to  inflict  my  poor  German  on  any  one,  for  in 
every  large  shop  English  is  spoken.  We  need  not 
learn  other  languages,  the  English  tongue  has  become 
universal. 

July  TO. — We  were  up  bright  and  early  to  take  the 
7:30  train  for  Munich.  Another  beautiful  day  ;  most 
welcome  is  the  sunshine  after  so  much  rain.  I  would 
give  a  great  deal  to  have  a  picture  of  our  party  sur- 
rounded by  its  baggage.  We  are  a  gay  crowd,  and  so 
the  foreigners  must  think  by  the  way  they  stare  at  us. 
We  found  a  nice  coup6  and  all  stood  in  the  door  and 
shouted  ''Nein  "  to  every  person  who  even  dared  look 
in.  None  were  brave  enough  to  claim  the  one  vacant 
seat  until  we  stopped  at  the  first  station,  and  a  gentle- 
man came  in. 

Many  were  the  expressions  of  disgust  from  ' '  the 
girls."  When  the  guard  came.  Miss  Morgan  asked 
him  if  we  were  on  a  through  train,  and  did  not  under- 


A  YOUNG  WOMAN  JOURNALIST.  97 

Stand  his  reply  ;  to  our  horror,  our  unwelcome  com- 
panion repeated  it  in  the  best  of  English.  We  all 
subsided,  but  upon  discovering  he  was  somewhat  deaf, 
we  ventured  to  ply  him  with  questions  and  found  him 
a  rich  mine.  He  served  with  Maximilian  in  Mexico 
twenty-eight  years  ago.  He  proudly  told  of  being 
shot  in  both  legs,  and  that  the  noise  of  the  battle 
was  so  great  as  to  cause  deafness.  His  wife  studies 
I,atin  and  Greek  with  her  sons,  and  his  four-year-old 
daughter  drinks  a  liter  of  wine  a  day.  The  latter  ac- 
complishment he  mentioned  as  if  he  were  very  proud 
of  it.  He  laughed  when  I  inquired  about  the  politics 
of  the  country,  and  said,  "  You  American  women  are 
interested  in  everything,"  but  he  told  me  what  I 
wanted  to  know.  There  is  a  House  of  Commons, 
elected  by  the  people,  and  a  House  of  I^ords.  The 
Emperor  can  veto  a  bill  but  twice,  and  it  can  then  be 
passed  over  his  head.  The  Emperor,  who  is  sixty-two 
years  old,  is  greatly  beloved.  He  is  a  hard  worker, 
rising  at  three  every  morning.  His  salary  is  five  mil- 
lion dollars  a  year ;  as  much  as  the  rulers  of  Russia, 
Prussia  and  Italy  together ;  besides,  he  has  vast 
estates.  Taxes  are  enormous.  If  a  man  builds  a 
house  to  rent,  he  pays  a  small  tax  for  the  first  twelve 
years  ;  after  that,  fifty  per  cent  of  the  income  from  the 
property  must  go  to  the  government.  The  national 
debt  is  in  the  billions.  I  wonder  the  people  are  so  happy 
with  such  burdens,  but  externally  all  is  prosperous. 

The  tragic  death  of  Prince  Leopold  is  considered 
a  great  catastrophe,  as  he  was  a  "  good  (?)  man."  I 
wondered  what  his  standard  of  goodness  was,  for  had 
the  Prince  been  true  to  his  wife  he  would  not  have 


98  A  YOUNG   WOMAN  JOURNALIST. 

been  killed  by  the  brother  of  his  mistress.  The  Em- 
peror was  warned  of  his  son's  death  an  hour  before 
it  occurred  and  could  have  saved  him,  but  told  the 
messenger  he  would  ' '  not  interfere  between  those 
two."  He  loves  his  daughter-in-law,  who  has  re- 
turned to  Bulgaria.  The  Empress  is  not  respected  at 
home  ;  she  seldom  lives  in  Austria,  and  cares  only 
for  horses,  hunting  and  races.  She  spends  twelve 
hours  a  day  in  the  stables  and  scarcely  two  weeks  in 
a  place.  Both  daughters  have  married  small  princes 
in  Bavaria,  much  to  the  disgust  of  the  Austrians, 
I  should  think,  by  the  expressive  shrug  of  the 
shoulders. 

The  heir  to  the  throne  is  very  unpopular.  As  an 
example  of  his  character,  Mr.  P.  told  us  he  was  hunt- 
ing one  day  with  gentlemen  of  his  court,  and  while 
passing  through  a  village  met  a  peasant  funeral  pro- 
cession. He  commanded  the  mourners  to  set  the 
casket  down  and  he  amused  himself  by  making  his 
horse  jump  over  it.  The  story  has  been  printed  all 
over  Austria  and  the  people  are  enraged  about  it. 
All  our  route  was  through  a  grand  and  beautiful 
country.  The  Austrian  Alps,  rugged  and  snow- 
capped, rose  high  and  lofty  against  the  perfect  sky 
of  blue.  We  passed  through  quaint  old  towns,  and 
on  lofty  summits  and  by  charming  lakes  were  the 
chateaux  of  the  nobility.  The  forests  were  dense,  the 
tops  of  the  trees  forming  a  solid  roof;  deer  and  other 
animals  abound  and  are  hunted  and  killed  on  this, 
their  native  heath. 

The   blue    Danube   came    to   view   after    we   had 
looked  and  longed  for  it  all  the  morning.     At  Ems 


A    YOUNG   WOMAN  JOURNALIST.  99 

the  fortifications  were  constructed  with  the  ransom 
paid  by  England  for  Richard  Cceur  de  Lion.  At 
Linz  our  new  friend  bade  us  good-bye,  after  doing 
all  he  could  for  our  comfort.  At  Melk  we  saw  the 
celebrated  Benedictine  Abbey,  founded  in  1089.  It 
stands  on  a  high  rock  and  is  most  picturesque  in 
location  and  outline.  All  the  day  I  kept  thinking 
of  "On  the  Heights"  and  fancied  Wama  lived  on 
some  such  mountain  side  and  there  wrote  her  wonder- 
ful journal. 

The  wine  country  was  near  us.  We  were  told 
that  no  such  wine  year  as  this  promised  to  be,  had 
been  known  for  fifty  years.  I  sighed,  for  cheap  wine 
means  heartache  and  poverty.  We  saw  women  in 
all  the  wheat-fields  and  wherever  there  was  labor 
needed.  At  Simbach  we  crossed  the  Austrian  border, 
leaving  behind  us  a  most  beautiful  land,  handsome 
people  and  magnificent  buildings. 

The  scenery  through  the  Tyrol  was  grand  beyond 
telling,  and  when  we  reached  Munich,  at  half-past 
six,  I  was  not  in  the  least  tired,  so  happy  had  been  my 
day.  We  came  to  the  Hotel  Bellevue,  very  good  and 
old-looking.  Outside,  it  is  covered  with  paintings  on  a 
gold  background,  and  is  all  a  romantic  imagination 
could  desire,  but  after  Vienna  it  seems  rather  com- 
mon. Munich  is  a  larger  city  than  I  expected  ;  it 
has  275,000  inhabitants,  is  situated  on  the  Isar,  and 
being  the  capital  of  Bavaria,  has  all  the  charm  of 
court  life. 

July  //.—The  old  Pinakothek  (Repository  of 
Pictures)  claimed  our  attention  first.  The  gallery 
contains   fourteen    hundred    pictures.      I    liked    best 


lOO  A    VOTING    WOMAN   JOURNALIvST. 

those  by  Murillo,  especially  his  celebrated  Beggar 
Boys.  Nothing  could  be  more  natural  than  those 
urchins.  How  many  like  them  I  have  seen  on 
Clark  street,  Chicago  !  Diirer's  Four  Apostles  was 
wonderful,  especially  St.  Paul's  famous  white  robe, 
which  is  unrivaled  in  its  plastic  modeling.  Rubens 
has  eighty-nine  pictures  in  this  gallery,  most  varied 
in  range ;  among  them  are  the  Last  Judgment,  Lion 
Hunt,  Children  with  Garlands  and  bacchanalian 
scenes.  The  views  from  the  windows  of  this  beautiful 
gallery  were  enchanting — gardens,  statues  and  lakes, 
as  far  as  the  eye  could  see. 

The  Alte  Residenz,  or  royal  palace,  was  shown 
us  in  the  afternoon,  by  a  very  pleasant  old  gentle- 
man. On  the  outside,  it  was  very  old  and  unat- 
tractive, but  within,  it  impressed  us  as  more  homelike 
and  beautiful  than  an}^  other  we  have  seen,  though 
not  so  grand  as  the  German  palace.  It  is  the  home 
of  the  Regent,  the  poor  king  of  Bavaria  being  mad, 
like  his  brother  Leopold,  whose  rule  almost  bank- 
rupted the  kingdom.  We  passed  his  home  and  the 
lake  in  which  he  was  drowned.  The  bedchamber 
contains  the  most  magnificent  bed.  All  the  covers 
and  hangings  are  gold-embroidered.  Leaves  and 
flowers  stand  out  four  inches.  It  took  forty  persons 
ten  3'ears  to  do  the  work,  and  cost  $400,000.  Napo- 
leon was  the  last  man  who  slept  in  it.  One  of  the 
girls  said  she  would  like  to  lie  in  such  a  bed,  but  the 
guide  answered  her  wisely,  "You  rest  better  in  one 
more  simple." 

The  walls  of  this  and  other  rooms  in  the  same 
suite  were  covered  with  gold,  and  pictures  in  porce- 


A   YOUNG   WOMAN  JOURNALIST.  lOI 

lain,  vases,  clocks  and  the  choicest  bric-a-brac 
adorned  the  sides,  up  to  the  ceiling.  We  passed 
through  the  magnificent  ball-room  into  two  card- 
rooms,  with  thirty-six  portraits  of  beautiful  women, 
by  Stuler.  I  was  glad  to  find  all  classes.  The 
most  beautiful  face  was  that  of  a  butcher's  daughter. 

Next  came  the  Battle  Saloon,  with  twelve  large 
pictures  representing  the  scenes  from  the  wars  in 
1805-15,  the  Hall  of  Charlemagne,  Barbarossa  Hall, 
Hapsburg  Saloon,  and  the  Throne  Saloon,  containing 
twelve  magnificent  gilded  bronze  statues,  over  life- 
size,  of  the  ancestors  of  the  House  of  Wittelsbach. 
I  ascended  the  steps  to  the  throne  and  almost  sat  in 
the  royal  chair.  The  rooms  formed  a  most  imposing 
suite  and  I  could  imagine  what  the  scene  must  be 
when  the  court  was  present.  Across  a  court  where 
a  fountain  was  playing  we  passed  to  the  Konigsbau 
where  are  the  magnificent  Nibelungen  frescoes  by 
Schnorr,  begun  in  1846.  They  represent  all  the 
scenes  and  personages  in  that,  the  earliest  German 
poem.  Siegfried  and  Kriemhilt  are  the  chief  char- 
acters and  all  are  wonderfully  well  executed. 

A  short  ride  through  this  interesting  city,  table 
d'hote  dinner  and  to  bed,  chronicles  the  rest  of  the 
day. 

Jjdy  12. — At  ten  o'clock  we  were  off  to  Ober- 
Ammergau.  We  reached  Ammergau  at  two,  where 
we  found  a  'bus  waiting  to  take  us  across  the 
mountain.  It  was  a  charming  ride  up,  up,  ever 
upward,  to  the  heights,  and  most  appropriate  it 
seemed  that  we  should  ascend  nearer  and  nearer 
heaven  while  on  this  sacred  pilgrimage.     Ever}^  step 


102  A    YOUNG    WOMAN   JOURNALIST. 

of  the  way  is  rich  in  legendary  lore  stored  among 
the  peasant  population.  I  longed  to  pause  at  Ettal 
and  join  the  foot  passengers  in  their  worship. 

The  first  object  I  saw  in  Ober-Ammergau  was  the 
tall  and  curiously  formed  peak  of  the  Kofel,  crowned 
with  a  large  cross.  It  is  the  presiding  genius  of  the 
place  and  is  as  dear  to  the  peasants  as  their  own 
lives. 

We  were  at  the  village  inn  ;  all  was  clean  and 
restful ;  outside,  the  rain  came  down  in  torrents  and 
a  line  of  carriages  passed  our  window  continually, 
also  the  poor  on  foot  seeking  a  place  to  spend  the 
night.  Six  thousand  visitors  from  the  ends  of  the 
earth  gathered,  in  that  mountain-girt  village  to  wit- 
ness the  play.  What  a  tribute  to  the  power  of 
Christ !  It  seemed  like  a  fulfillment  of  His  words, 
"And  I,  if  I  be  lifted  up,  will  draw  all  men  unto 
me." 

July  7j.— To-day  is  an  epoch  in  my  life.  Nevei 
have  I  been  so  thrilled  and  filled  with  a  realization  ol 
what  Christ  suffered  for  the  world,  and  for  me,  for  mi\ 
O  God,  for  ME  !  The  beauty  of  that  scene  !  The 
stage  is  open,  and  beyond  were  the  everlasting  hills, 
and  the  blue-gray  sky  ;  birds  flew  over  our  heads  and 
joined  the  chorus.  The  scenery  was  perfect,  the 
costumes  were  most  picturesque  and  harmonious. 
Nothing  jarred  ;  all  was  uplifting.  I  felt  exalted 
above  the  world,  and,  carried  back  eighteen  hundred 
years.  With  my  dear  Saviour  I  walked  from  the 
triumphal  entry  into  Jerusalem,  on,  on,  to  His  be- 
trayal and  crucifixion.  The  characters  were  all  well 
taken  ;  Joseph  Maier  seemed  a  very  Christ,  so  gentle 


A   YOUNG   WOMAN  JOURNALIST.  103 

and  dignified  was  his  bearing,  so  sweet  bis  expres- 
sion. At  the  Last  Supper  I  thought  my  heart  would 
break,  and  so  it  was  all  the  way  through.  I  do  not 
understand  how  one  could  sit  through  that  divine 
representation  without  surrendering  his  heart  to 
Christ,  if  he  had  not  already  done  so.  I  can  never 
feel  that  I  have  done  one-half  what  I  should  in  re- 
turn for  the  love  displayed  toward  me.  Let  me,  my 
God,  drink  deeper  and  deeper  of  Thy  love  !  Help  me 
to  lov^e  humanity  as  Thou  didst  and  be  ready  to  die 
like  ray  Lord,  if  thereby  my  brothers  and  sisters  may 
be  helped. 

July  14.. — Left  Munich  with  regret  for  Venice, 
expecting  to  reach  Verona  at  eleven  p.  m.  We 
passed  through  a  rare  country.  The  border  scenery 
is  among  the  finest  in  the  Alps  between  Italy  and 
German}'.  The  river  Inn  rushes  in  a  mighty  flood. 
The  people  are  prosperous,  the  mountains  romantic, 
the  valleys  fresh  and  green.  No  wonder  that  all  the 
poets  who  have  hymned  the  land  of  Tyrol  have 
chosen  for  their  favorite  theme  this  little  plot  of 
earth.  All  the  splendors  and  all  the  joyous  life  of 
the  German  Alps  are  found  once  again,  compressed 
into  the  narrow  space  from  Kufstein  to  Innspruck. 
The  railroad  has  been  cut  right  out  of  the  mountains. 
We  passed  waterfalls  in  surroundings  full  of  beauty — 
huge  rocks  of  bold  and  fantastic  outline,  piled  high 
in  so  narrow  a  space  that  the  uppermost  arms  inter- 
lock —  and  thundered  through  long  tunnels  that 
seemed  to  pierce  the  bowels  of  the  earth. 

We  caught  many  a  glimpse  of  scenery  that  has 
often  been  transferred  to  canvas. 


104  A   YOUNG   WOMAN  JOURNALIST. 

Innspruck,  taking  into  consideration  the  surround- 
ing scenery  and  the  situation,  is  without  doubt  the 
loveliest  town  of  the  Austrian  Alps.  I  did  long  to 
stop  and  visit  the  church  of  the  Holy  Cross,  which 
contains  the  tomb  of  ^Maximilian  I.,  a  unique  work  ol 
art. 

All  the  morning  we  passed  snow-clad  mountains 
and  longed  to  touch  them,  and  an  unexpected  oppor- 
tunity presented  itself  at  Gries,  where  we  were  in- 
formed a  snowstorm  had  raged  on  Saturday,  Sunday 
and  Monday,  and  the  snow  was  three  feet  deep. 
Bridges  and  tracks  had  been  swept  away  by  mountain 
torrents  and  landslides,  and  we  did  not  know  what 
might  be  our  face.  We  gathered  the  Vvhite  snow  and 
talked,  as  we  ate  it,  of  the  home  folks  who  doubtless 
were  panting  with  the  thermometer  90°  in  the  shade. 
After  an  hour's  wait  we  started  and  the  train  fairly 
crept  over  the  Brenner  Pass,  where  a  new  track  had 
been  constructed.  Here  we  were  more  than  four 
thousand  feet  above  the  sea  and  beheld  the  acme  of 
human  science  and  skill  in  overcoming  obstacles. 

On  we  went,  the  entire  landscape  covered  with 
snow,  until  we  reached  Brien,  where  begin  the  charms 
of  the  south  Tyrol,  and  nature  assumes  an  ever 
gaudier  dress. 

Just  before  we  reached  Botzen  we  had  to  alight 
from  the  train,  and  by  the  light  of  flaming  torches 
cross  a  plank  bridge  over  the  raging  Eisack,  which 
was  swollen  until  it  seemed  like  a  thundering  Niagara 
that  would  sweep  us  all  into  its  whirling,  foaming 
depth.  The  scene  was  most  weird.  Motionless 
stood  the  willows  on   the  brink  of  the  fiery  stream 


A   YOUNG    WOMAN   JOURNALIST.  I05 

and  black  as  lava  fell  the  shadows  of  the  crags,  while 
like  motionless  fireflies  shone  the  lights  behind  the 
window-panes  of  the  lofty  mountain  chalets. 

At  Botzen  we  were  told  we  could  go  no  farther, 
owing  to  several  bad  breaks  in  the  road — which  might 
be  repaired  in  eight  days  !  The  consternation  this  an- 
nouncement caused  seemed  to  amuse  our  conductor, 
and  he  repeated  that  we  might  have  to  walk,  making 
the  funniest  motions  with  his  fingers,  not  knowing  the 
English  for  "  walk." 

We  spent  the  night  at  the  Kaiser  Crown,  perplexed 
as  to  what  we  should  do  on  the  morrow.  "  Ever-reced- 
ing Italy,"  I  began  to  sing,  and  wondered  when  my 
dream  of  years  would  be  realized  and  I  should  stand 
on  its  historic  soil. 

Botzen  may  be  compared  to  the  nave  of  a  wheel — 
the  rim  is  the  universe  of  mountains,  the  spokes  are 
the  various  approaches  thereto.  In  every  direction 
there  are  things  deserving  of  notice,  scenes  terrific 
and  lovel3%  the  shade  of  firs  and  vineyards,  castles  and 
rushing  torrents. 

We  were  awakened  earlj^  by  Miss  Morgan,  who 
asked  if  we  wanted  to  take  a  ride  of  forty-five  miles 
over  the  Mendel  to  St.  Michels,  thus  going  around  the 
break.  All  were  eager  for  this  new  experience  which 
cost  five  dollars  extra,  and  soon  we  were  ofi"  in 
easy  carriages.  How  can  I  describe  that  ride  ? 
Words  fail  me.  The  road  is  a  marv^el  of  skill,  cut 
from  the  mountain  side  ;  it  is  as  smooth  and  hard  as  a 
polished  marble  floor,  with  its  outer  side  protected  by 
a  stone  fence.  Perfectly  secure,  a  glorious  day  and 
all  surroundings  congenial,  I  had  only  to  give  myself 


I06  A    YOUNG    WOMAN   JOURNALIST. 

up  to  the  full  enjoyment  of  the  rarely  beautiful  view. 
Hour  after  hour  we  kept  climbing  up,  up,  mountain 
after  mountain,  while  still  higher  peaks  towered  above 
us,  all  snow-capped,  and  now  and  then  we  saw  a 
glacier  glittering  in  the  sun.  The  valle3^s  and  mount- 
ain sides  were  covered  with  vines,  which  promised  a 
rich  harvest,  while  the  picturesque  villages  with  their 
church  spires  pointing  heavenward,  and  red-roofed 
houses,  blue  lakes,  silver  river  and  sparkling  water- 
falls completed  a  landscape  too  transcendently  beauti- 
ful to  be  real.  The  glacier-seamed  peaks  looked  like 
celestial  palaces.  At  one  time,  near  the  summit  of  the 
Mendel,  we  could  count  the  turns  of  the  road,  which, 
like  a  white  ribbon,  wound  along  in  fourteen  tiers,  one 
above  the  other. 

Miss  Underbill  and  I  walked  about  a  mile  and 
gathered  wild  flowers,  and  at  noon  we  rested  under 
wide-spreading  trees  near  the  palace  of  a  baron,  most 
charmingly  located.  The  bells  chimed  and  the  en- 
circling hills  echoed  the  sounds  again  and  again.  I 
had  a  most  delicious  glass  of  milk,  and  the  only  time 
I  have  been  embarrassed  by  mj'  temperance  principles 
was  here.  Our  coachman  carefully  washed  his  glass, 
and  pouring  it  full  of  wine,  offered  it  to  me,  telling 
me  it  was  remarkably  fine,  being  eight  j^ears  old.  Of 
course,  I  declined  as  best  I  could,  but  I  fear  he 
thought  I  was  too  proud  to  accept  his  wine.  A  kind- 
hearted  man  he  is.  I  was  greatly  drawn  to  him 
because  of  his  goodness  to  his  horses.  No  city-bred 
gentleman  could  have  apologized  more  gracefully  than 
did  he,  for  taking  off  his  coat,  or  said  with  more  ease, 
"  Allow  me,"  when  he  took  a  cigar. 


A   YOUNG    WOMAN  JOURNALIST.  107 

At  two  p.  m.  we  reached  the  Mendelhof,  a  popular 
summer  hotel,  and  had  a  most  excellent  dinner.  From 
this  point  we  descended.  We  passed  through  most 
quaint  and  picturesque  villages.  How  I  wish  I  had 
the  picture  of  one  little  fellow  who  stood  by  himself 
slowly  eating  a  lump  of  sugar,  looking  like  a  con- 
tented philosopher.  He  was  a  fit  subject  for  Murillo's 
brush.  In  the  background  was  a  group  of  twenty- 
eight  children  of  all  ages,  among  them  some  real 
beauties.  They  looked  at  us  as  if  we  were  princesses, 
and  I  could  fancy  their  thoughts  and  longings  to  be 
like  those  grand  ladies  from  the  great  world. 

All  along,  we  saw  women  in  the  fields  working 
with  the  men,  and  oxen  instead  of  horses  are  the 
rule. 

We  went  about  a  mile  out  of  our  way  to  see  a 
wonderful  ravine,  five  hundred  feet  deep — a  gorge 
with  straight  banks  covered  with  fir  trees  and  at  the 
.  bottom  the  rushing  river  Noce,  which  doubtless  ages 
ago  was  a  small  stream  coming  down  the  mountains, 
but  slowly  it  deepened  its  bed  until  it  is  almost  lost 
in  the  abyss  it  has  itself  formed.  A  beautiful  bridge 
has  been  built  across  the  gorge  and  to  stand  on  it  and 
look  down  made  my  blood  run  cold.  I  could  think 
only  of  some  of  the  places  described  in  Dante's 
Inferno. 

At  eight  o'clock  we  drove  through  a  fine  fort, 
over  drawbridges  and  past  soldiers,  and  reached  the 
station,  where  we  took  the  train  for  Verona,  arriving 
at  midnight. 


July  i6. 

ERONA  is  a  fine  city  situated  on  both 
banks  of  the  Adige,  and  strongly 
fortified.  In  entering  we  drove 
through  huge  gates  guarded  by  sol- 
diers, who  peered  into  our  carriages. 
We  were  at  the  Hotel  de  L,oudres,  formerly 
a  palace  of  the  Scaligers,  for  years  the  rulers 
of  Verona.  I  did  not  sleep  any  better  in 
those  royal  halls  than  I  should  in  an  ordinar}-  hotel, 
but  it  was  romantic,  and  I  yielded  to  the  charm  and 
dreamed  I  was  living  a  century  ago. 

Our  morning  drive  took  us  past  the  Piazza  Erbe, 
the  ancient  Forum,  now  the  fruit  and  vegetable 
market,  and  one  of  the  most  picturesque  squares  in 
Italy.  Hundreds  of  women  in  their  bright  dresses 
sat  under  large  white  umbrellas,  while  before  them 
were  piled  luscious  fruit,  greens  and  flowers.  I  have 
never  seen  such  cherries  as  in  Germany  and  Italy. 
How  I  have  enjoyed  them,  the  quarts  devoured  can 
fully  testify. 

Our  first  visit  was  to  Santo  Zeno,  the  finest 
Romanesque  church  in  northern  Italy,  begun  in  the 
seventh  century.  There  were  some  fine  pictures, 
and  the  crypt,  containing  the  tomb  of  St.  Zeno  and 

io8 


A   YOUNG    WOMAN  JOURNALIST.  lOQ 

ancient  sculptures  and  frescoes,  was  well  worth  the 
visit.  Most  interesting,  however,  were  the  cloisters 
with  their  elegant  double  columns,  inclosing  a  flower- 
adorned  court. 

The  chief  sight  of  Verona  is  the  amphitheater, 
erected  about  A.  D.  290,  one  hundred  and  six  feet 
high,  one  hundred  and  sixty-eight  yards  long  and 
one  hundred  and  thirty-four  yards  wide.  I  have  so 
often  pictured  these  resorts  of  the  ancients,  and  this 
was  just  as  I  had  fancied  it.  What  scenes  have  been 
enacted  on  that  arena  !  With  the  blood  of  how  many 
martyrs  has  it  been  wet !  Around  the  interior  rise 
forty-three  tiers  of  gray  limestone  steps  on  which 
twenty-four  thousand  spectators  could  sit.  The  visit 
of  Napoleon  I.,  in  1805,  is  commemorated  by  an  in- 
scription. Underneath  the  seats  and  between  the 
entrances  are  the  cells  where  were  kept  the  beasts 
hungry  for  their  prey. 

On  the  way  to  the  Tombs  of  the  Scaligers  we 
passed  the  home  of  Juliet,  so  our  driver  said,  but 
I  doubt  it.  There  certainly  was  no  balcony  in  sight 
for  the  accommodation  of  poor  Romeo.  The  Mon- 
tagues and  the  Capulets  lived  here  in  days  of  yore, 
and  quarreled  with  each  other.  So  saith  Italian 
authority,  and  hence  Shakspere  drew  the  materials 
for  his  famous  tragedy. 

The  Tombs  are  very  fine  Gothics  and  immortalize 
the  masculine  genius  of  the  dynasty.  We  looked 
into  one  church  and  saw  monks  and  people  praying. 
Next,  we  went  to  a  church  very  rich  in  wood  carving. 
Never  have  we  seen  such  rare  work  ;  the  shading,  all 
in  natural  wood,  was   almost   equal   to  painting.     A 


no  A    YOUNG    WOMAN   JOURNALIST. 

fine  candelabra  of  ebony  worth  more  than  its  weight 
in  gold,  which  was  taken  by  Napoleon  but  restored, 
was  in  a  chapel.  The  priest  was  putting  on  his  robes 
for  the  service,  while  we  stood  there,  and  chatting 
with  his  assistants.  He  kissed  the  cross  on  his  collar 
before  putting  it  on  his  neck,  in  a  decidedly  mechan- 
ical way,  I  thought. 

We  stopped  as  we  rode  by  the  Garden  of  Justice, 
and  looked  up  long  terraces  of  steps,  green  hedges  on 
either  side,  a  perfect  bower  of  beauty. 

Morning  found  us  en  route  for  Venice,  which  we 
reached  at  three  p.  m.  Never  shall  I  forget  my  first 
sight  of  the  "Queen  of  the  Adriatic."  I  feared  I 
might  be  disappointed  in  this  most  enchanting  of  cities, 
but  I  was  not ;  when  first  I  beheld  it,  rising  fairy- 
like from  the  water,  the  spell  was  upon  me  and  never 
will  it  depart.  The  approach  to  the  city  is  over  a 
bridge  two  miles  long  and  finely  constructed.  Pass- 
ing through  the  station  we  took  places  in  a  gondola 
and  away  we  went.  All  our  party  were  wild  with 
delight  and  vowed  they  would  never  leave  Venice. 
Hotel  du  Roma  is  very  centrally  located  and  is  most 
comfortable. 

Venice  lies  in  the  Lagune,  a  shallow  bay  of  the 
Adriatic,  about  twenty-five  miles  in  length  and  nine 
in  width.  Its  fifteen  thousand  houses  and  palaces 
stand  on  one  hundred  and  seventeen  small  islands, 
formed  by  one  hundred  and  fifty  canals,  and  con- 
nected by  three  hundred  and  seventy-eight  bridges. 
One-fourth  of  the  population  are  paupers. 

Ruskin  advises  the  traveler  to  devote  his  principal 
attention   to  the  works  of  Tintoretto,    Paul  Veronese 


A   YOUNG    WOMAN  JOURNALIST.  1 1  I 

and  Bellini,  not  of  course  neglecting  Titian,  yet  re- 
membering that  Titian  can  be  studied  in  almost 
any  large  European  gallery  while  the  others  can 
be  judged  of  only  in  Venice. 

Our  first  evening  was  ideal,  it  being  the  occasion 
of  a  celebration  given  in  honor  of  the  Prince  of 
Morocco,  who  is  making  a  tour  of  Italy.  After  din- 
ner we  "sailed  away  "  to  join  the  procession  on  the 
Grand  Canal.  I  can  not  describe  the  scene.  A  blue, 
blue  sky  overhead,  the  canal,  from  which  rose  on 
either  side  stately  palaces  brightly  illuminated  with 
colored  lights,  while  the  water  was  covered  with  gon- 
dolas looking  like  fairy  barks,  with  Chinese  lanterns, 
flags  and  colored  lights.  The  floating  stage  pre- 
pared for  the  singers  was  beautiful  beyond  descrip- 
tion ;  from  the  center  arose  a  tree  formed  of  red, 
white  and  blue  cups  ;  the  entire  boat,  which  was  cir- 
cular, was  covered  with  these,  each  containing  an  elec- 
tric light.  It  was  like  a  dream  to  see  this  wonderful 
craft  floating  along  and  to  hear  the  music,  which  was 
very,  very  fine  ;  following  were  a  thousand  gondolas, 
making  an  almost  solid  bridge  across  the  canal,  the 
gondoliers,  in  their  white  suits  and  silk  sashes,  stand- 
ing and  with  graceful  motion  guiding  the  boats  ;  the 
whole  scene  was  most  picturesque. 

As  we  passed  the  Grand  Hotel  the  white- turbaned 
Turks  added  the  last  touch  to  the  enchanting  scene. 
Here  we  heard  most  ravishing  music,  and  the  St. 
Maria  della  Salute,  all  aglow  with  a  heavenly  light, 
its  marble  steps  covered  with  groups  of  spectators, 
was  a  picture  worthy  the  greatest  artist. 


112  A   YOUNG    WOMAN   JOURNALIST. 

It  was  one  o'clock  before  we  reached  home,  not  to 
sleep,  even  then,  for  I  was  intoxicated  with  delight. 

July  77.— Like  true  pilgrims  we  went  first  to  St. 
Mark's.  The  Piazza  was  our  first  halting  place,  a 
paved  marble  square  one  hundred  and  ninety-two 
yards  in  length,  which  affords  the  most  striking  evi- 
dence of  the  ancient  glory  of  Venice.  "  The  Place  of 
St.  Mark  is  the  heart  of  Venice,  and  from  this  beats 
new  life  in  every  direction,  through  an  intricate  sys- 
tem of  canals  that  bring  it  back  again  to  the  same 
center,"  says  Howells.  On  three  sides  it  is  inclosed 
by  imposing  buildings  which  appear  to  form  one  vast 
marble  palace.  Here  is  the  center  of  business  and 
amusement  and  of  all  that  is  grandest  and  loveliest  in 
Venetian  architecture.  To  the  seaward  are  the  two 
famous  columns  of  granite,  one  bearing  the  winged 
lion  of  St.  Mark,  the  other  the  statue  of  St.  Theodore. 
This  used  to  be  the  place  of  execution. 

Three  richly  decorated  flag-staffs  stand  in  front  of 
the  church.  I  had  always  determined  when  I  came 
to  Venice  to  feed  the  pigeons  in  the  Piazza,  and  I  did. 
Often  three  would  perch  on  my  hand  at  a  time  and 
eat  the  corn.  At  least  five  hundred  circled  about  us, 
as  friendly  as  friendly  could  be. 

The  nucleus  of  S.  Marco,  the  church  of  St.  Mark, 
the  tutelary  saint  of  Venice,  whose  bones  are  said  to 
have  been  brought  by  Venetians  from  Alexandria,  in 
828,  is  a  P^omanesque  building  of  the  tenth  century, 
which  has  since  been  remodeled  in  a  Byzantine  style 
and  decorated  with  lavish  and  almost  Oriental  mag- 
nificence. It  is  in  the  form  of  a  Greek  cross  covered 
with  domes.     Externally  and  internally  the  church  is 


PPPIS 


A   YOUNG   WOMAN  JOURNALIST.  XI3 

adorned  with  five  hundred  marble  columns.  The  mosa- 
ics cover  an  area  of  forty -five  thousand,  seven  hundred 
and  ninety  square  feet.  The  interior  is  perfectly  gor- 
geous with  gilding,  bronze  and  marble.  More  suit- 
able for  a  heathen  temple  than  for  the  church  of  God, 
it  seems  to  me.  Over  the  principal  portal  are  the 
celebrated  four  horses  in  gilded  bronze,  of  Roman 
origin,  probably  of  the  time  of  Nero.  Constantiue 
sent  them  to  Constantinople,  whence  the  Doge  Dan- 
dolo  brought  them  to  Venice  in  1204.  In  1797  they 
were  carried  by  Napoleon  to  Paris,  and  in  18 15  they 
were  restored  to  their  former  position. 

The  Ducal  Palace  is  "the  great  work  of  Ven- 
ice," to  quote  Ruskin  ;  the  principal  eflfort  of  her 
imagination,  employing  her  best  architects  in  its 
masonry  and  her  best  artists  in  its  decoration,  for  a 
long  series  of  years.  The  Giant  staircase  leading  to 
the  palace  derives  its  name  from  the  colossal  statues 
of  Mars  and  Neptune  at  the  top.  On  the  highest 
landing  of  these  steps  the  Doges  were  w^ont  to  be 
crowned.  The  colonnades  were  rich  in  busts  of  the 
nobili  whose  names  used  to  be  entered  in  the  Golden 
Book. 

The  great  Council  hall  is  immense  and  contains 
Tintoretto's  Paradise,  the  largest  oil  painting  in  the 
world.  Ruskin  says  it  is  the  most  precious  thing  in 
Venice,  but  Ruskin  and  I  differ  on  this,  as  on  many 
other  points.  I  saw  only  a  bewildering  multitude  of 
figures,  some,  indeed,  being  fine.  On  either  side  of 
the  room  were  huge  globes,  and  from  the  balconj^ 
we  had  a  good  view  of  the  lagoon.  All  the  rooms 
are    most     interesting.      The    sides    and     roofs    are 


114  ^   YOUNG   WOMAN  JOURNALIST. 

covered  with  fine  pictures  by  Titian,  Tintoretto  and 
Veronese. 

We  passed  over  the  Bridge  of  Sighs,  that 
"pathetic  swindle,"  as  Howells  calls  it,  into  the 
gloomj-  dungeons,  torture-chamber  and  place  of  ex- 
ecution for  political  criminals.  Saw  the  stone  beds 
on  which  the}^  slept,  if  sleep  they  could  in  such  a 
place,  and  the  hole  in  the  walls  where  their  food  was 
handed  through.  It  made  me  shudder,  and  I  was 
very  glad  to  return  to  the  sunshine  and  the  peaceful 
doves. 

In  the  afternoon,  Miss  Underhill  and  I  went  shop- 
ping and  in  the  evening  spent  an  hour  on  the  Grand 
Canal.  It  seemed  very  quiet  compared  to  the  pre- 
vious evening.  Saw  the  house  where  Browning 
lived  and  died. 

Our  girls  were  greatly  amused  at  the  bathers. 
The  public  way  in  which  they  go  into  the  water  was 
considered  ' '  rank  ' '  by  our  Western  lassies. 

/n/j'  iS. — In  our  comfortable  gondolas  we  floated 
to  the  principal  churches.  S.  Zaccarie  erected  in 
1^57,  contains  the  best  by  Bellini,  The  Virgin  with 
Four  Saints ;  S.  Giovanni  e  Paolo,  a  magnificent 
Italian  Gothic— next  to  St.  Mark's  the  most  impos- 
ing in  Venice — contains  the  burial  vaults  of  the 
Doges.  It  is  the  Westminster  of  Venice.  In  its 
chapels  are  charred  remains  of  beautiful  reliefs.  The 
Church  of  the  Frari  is  a  noble  example  of  Italian 
Gothic,  interior  fine  but  chiefly  interesting  for  its 
monuments.  It  has  a  large  and  elegant  monument 
of  Titian  and  the  tomb  of  Canova  from  a  design  of 
his  own,  which  is  very  like  the  one  in  St   Augustine 


A   YOUNG   WOMAN  JOURNALIST.  II5 

Church,  Vienna.  There  are  also  many  beautiful 
pictures  by  Titian.  The  Church  of  the  Jesuits  is 
famous,  and  rightly  so,  for  its  interior.  The  walls 
are  covered  with  imitations  of  drapery  in  white 
marble  inlaid  with  green,  most  wonderful.  A  bal- 
cony and  curtain  drawn  aside,  all  of  marble,  is  very 
ornate. 

After  lunch  we  walked  over  the  iron  bridge  (the 
only  one  not  stone  in  the  city,  I  believe)  to  the  Acad- 
emy of  Fine  Arts,  passing  on  the  way  a  most  magnifi- 
cent palace.  The  Academy  is  a  suppressed  Augustine 
convent,  and  contains  six  hundred  pictures.  Paused 
first  before  Titian's  Assumption.  Composition  won- 
derful and  the  coloring  rich  and  beautiful.  My 
favorite.     Others  I  liked  were  : 

Bellini's  Madonna  Enthroned  with  Saints. 

Tintoretto's  Death  of  Abel ;  most  wonderful  because  of  its 
perfect  truth  to  anatomy. 

Veronese,  Jesus  in  Home  of  Levi. 

Series  of  scenes  from  life  of  St.  Ursula. 

Miraculous  Finding  of  Piece  of  True  Cross  V/hich  Had 
Fallen  into  Canal. 

Titian,  Presentation  in  Temple.  Sweet  figure  of  very 
young  girl. 

Titian,  St.  John  in  Wilderness. 

The  heat  was  intense,  and  so  we  rested  until  after 
dinner,  then  went  to  the  Piazza  to  see  the  gay  world. 
Heard  music  by  military  band.  All  very  gay  and 
Venetian-like. 

I  thought  often  of  what  the  Boston  girl  wrote 
home,  and  feel  I  can  appreciate  her  state  of  mind, 
when  she  said,    "Last  night  I  lay  in  a  gondola  on 


Il6  A   YOUNG    WOMAN  JOURNALIST. 

the  Grand  Canal,  drinking   it   all  in,  and  life  never 
seemed  so  full  before." 

July  ig. — Oflf  for  Florence.  One  more  gondola 
ride  in  the  fresh,  cool  morning  breeze.  It  seemed 
almost  like  leaving  a  beloved  friend.  Venice  is  so 
dear  and  near  to  my  heart.  We  stopped  at  Bologna 
but  not  long  enough  to  see  Raphael's  St.  Cecilia. 
In  the  time  of  its  greatest  prosperity  Bologna  Uni- 
versity had  women  professors.  In  the  fourteenth 
century,  Novella  d' Andrea,  a  lady  of  great  per- 
sonal attractions,  who  is  said  to  have  been  concealed 
by  a  curtain  during  her  lectures  ;  later,  Laura  Bassi 
taught  mathematics  and  physical  science  ;  another, 
anatomy,  and  in  1792-1817  Clotilda  Tambroni  taught 
Greek.  In  1200  the  University  had  ten  thousand 
students. 

On  through  the  Appenines  country.  In  and  out 
of  forty-five  tunnels  we  sped,  two  over  a  mile  long. 
At  first  it  was  great  sport,  but  after  a  while  it  be- 
came very  monotonous.  Between,  we  caught  lovely 
glimpses  of  the  valleys  and  fertile  plains  of  Tuscany, 
the  garden  of  Italy,  and  of  olive  trees  and  vines.  I 
was  disappointed  in  the  Italian  country.  The  grand 
Tyrolese  scenery  spoiled  me  for  anything  ordinary,  I 
fear.  Reached  Florence  about  four  p.  m.  Took 
phaeton  for  our  pension,  Mrs.  Lawrence,  8  \'ia 
Venezia,  which  was  very  homelike  and  comfortable. 
After  dinner,  Mr.  Lawrence,  a  courtly  gentlennn 
of  the  old  school,  and  his  grandchild,  Dell  Marita,  a 
shy,  very  precocious  Italian  beauty,  escorted  us  to 
Palazza  Cavona,  where  we  refreshed  ourselves  with 
ices,  and  afterwards  walked  in  a  people's  park  where 


A   YOUNG   WOMAX   JOURNAI.IST.  II7 

are  all  kinds  of  shows,  monkeys,  etc.  The  Italians  are 
like  the  French  ;  the  most  they  want  is  to  eat,  drink 
and  be  merry. 

Miss  D.'s  window  looks  out  upon  fig  trees  in  fruit 
and  magnolias  in  blossom  ;  very  charming.  She  said 
all  she  wanted  was  a  Romeo  to  do  the  Romeo  and 
Juliet  act.  A  very  bright  girl.  She  and  Miss  P.  are 
typical  society  girls,  their  vocabulary  composed 
almost  entirely  of  slang  which  they  use  in  such  an 
appropriate  and  offhand  way  as  to  make  it  almost 
pardonable.  Miss  S.  is  more  truly  cultured  and 
earnest,  yet  anxious  to  go  into  society  ;  a  sweet-faced 
girl  who  was  surely  formed  for  better  things.  All 
three  drink  beer  and  wine,  and  rather  enjoy  the 
thought  that  they  shock  me.  How  little  they  know 
how  I  really  love  them  and  long  for  them  to  know  the 
truer  and  nobler  side  of  life  !  God  grant  I  may  be 
able  to  cause  an  "arrest  of  thought."  They  are 
good  at  heart,  but  thoughtless  and  ignorant  ;  all  they 
need,  is  to  be  convinced  that  their  influence  is  bad, 
and  they  would  never  drink  wine  again.  Miss  U.  is 
an  earnest,  conscientious  girl  and  I  like  her  very 
much.  She  and  I  are  a  constant  source  of  amusement 
to  the  "girls."  When  we  rush  off  to  see  an  old 
painting  they  exclaim,  "There  they  go  on  the  scent 
of  another  Saint,"  and  like  expressions,  much  to  our 
delight. 

July  20.  — A  rich  day  in  classical  Florence,  situated 
on  the  Arno  which  flows  through  the  heart  of  the 
city.  Never  has  the  sky  seemed  so  blue  as  here,  or  the 
stars  so  brilliant  and  near.  I  can  not  describe  this  art 
city  of  Tuscany  and  the  world,  with  its  surrounding 


Il8  A   YOUNG    WOMAN   JOURNALIST. 

gardens,  the  blue  mountains  standing  out  against 
the  golden  background  of  a  western  sky.  ' '  Each 
street  contains  a  world  of  art ;  the  walls  of  the  city 
are  the  calyx,  containing  the  fairest  flowers  of  the 
human  mind,  and  thi-s  is  but  the  richest  gem  in  the 
diadem  with  which  the  Italian  people  have  adorned 
the  earth." 

After  breakfast  we  started  for  the  Church  of  S. 
Annunziata  which  has  many  frescoes  by  Andrea  del 
Sarto,  whose  house  we  passed  on  the  way.  It  bears 
a  marble  tablet  with  the  inscription:  "Andrea  del 
Sarto  *  *  *  died  1530,  full  of  glory  and  domestic 
affliction."  Mrs.  Lawrence  took  us  to  the  high  altar 
where  we  could  see  the  service  and  hear  the  grand 
orchestral  music.  The  choir  is  directly  under  the 
huge  dome,  which  is  gorgeously  adorned  with  clouds, 
figures,  angels,  etc.,  in  confusion. 

We  next  visited  the  Accademia  di  Bella  Arti,  to 
see  Michael  Angelo's  celebrated  David,  carved  in 
1501-4  from  a  gigantic  block  of  marble  which  had 
been  abandoned  as  spoiled.  Writing  that  fact,  re- 
minds me  of  the  time  when  for  five  successive  Sun- 
days I  heard  five  different  ministers  tell  of  the  great 
sculptor  who  found  an  angel  in  a  rejected  stone. 
"David"  well  deserves  the  praise  that  is  bestowed 
upon  it.  Michael  Angelo  was  four  j-'ears  completing 
the  work,  ' '  Outwardly  the  3-oung  hero  is  composed 
and  quiet  ;  but  each  limb  is  animated  by  a  common 
impulse  from  within,  and  the  whole  body  is  braced 
for  action.  The  raised  left  arm  holds  the  sling,  the 
right  hand  hanging  by  his  side  conceals  the  pebble  : 
next  instant  he  will  make  the  attack." 


A   YOUNG    WOMAN  JOURNALIST.  II9 

We  next  went  to  the  Monastery  of  S.  Marco  and 
r  experienced  a  genuine  thrill  as  I  walked  where 
Savonarola  had  trod.  This  was  indeed  sacred  ground 
and  all  was  peaceful  and  quiet,  in  harmony  with  the 
day.  One  of  the  walls  of  the  great  Refectory  is 
adorned  with  the  so-called  "  Providenza,"  showing 
the  brothers  and  St.  Dominic  seated  at  a  table  and 
fed  by  angels. 

We  entered  the  cells  once  occupied  by  Savonarola, 
saw  his  dress,  crucifix  and  a  piece  of  the  stake  at 
which  he  was  burned  after  being  hung  in  1498.  A 
fine  picture  of  him  by  Fra  Bartolomeo  hung  upon  the 
wall.  What  Luther  was  to  Germany,  Savonarola  was 
to  Italy.  The  road  to  reform  seems  always  to  lead  bj^ 
the  cross. 

The  face  of  the  sweet  and  gentle  St.  Antonine, 
Archbishop  of  Florence,  looked  down  upon  us  in 
blessing  as  we  entered  his  cell. 

All  the  cloisters  are  adorned  with  wonderful 
paintings  by  Fra  Angelico  ;  especially  did  I  like  the 
easel  pictures.  This  blessed  man  felt  that  his  inspi- 
ration to  paint  came  directly  from  God,  and  everj^ 
stroke  of  his  brush  was  preceded  by  prayer.  He 
painted  only  devout  and  saintly  subjects,  for  which 
he  would  accept  no  remuneration. 

lyiibke  says  :  "  His  angels  are  the  purest  types  to 
which  imagination  has  consented.  By  no  other  hand 
are  these  beings  of  another  sphere  depicted  so  genu- 
inely as  the  gentle  guardians  of  man." 

The  library,  the  first  public  library  in  Italy,  built 
by  Cosmo  de  Medici  in  1441,  contains  wonderful  illu- 
minated rituals.     In  the  afternoon  we  visited  the  Uffizi 


I20  A  youxCt  woman  jourxalist. 

Gallery.  Our  way  was  along  the  Arno  and  we  en- 
tered through  a  corridor  ;  in  niches  were  the  marble 
statues  of  celebrated  Tuscans  in  1842-56.  I  recog- 
nized the  face  of  Dante.  The  gallerj'  originated  with 
the  celebrated  Medici  family,  to  whom  this  cit}-  owes 
much  of  its  greatness.  We  went  first  to  the  Tribuna 
where  are  the  choicest  gems  of  the  collection.  I  was 
somewhat  disappointed  in  the  pictures,  but  not  in  the 
marbles.  The  Venus  de  Medici  is  very  satisfactory. 
Her  face  is  so  beautiful  and  so  intellectual  that  it  is 
not  dazzled  out  of  sight  by  her  form.  Her  position 
at  first  seems  affected,  but  study  convinces  one  it  is 
modest}'.  The  arms  have  been  badly  restored.  When 
found  by  Cosmo  de  Medici  in  the  sixteenth  century, 
the  statue  was  in  thirteen  pieces. 

The  Wrestlers  displays  in  the  accuracy  of  its 
knotted  muscles  great  anatomical  knowledge,  and 
represents  the  best  age  of  Greek  art.  The  other 
noticeable  statues  are :  Satyr  Playing  on  Cymbal  ; 
The  Grinder,— fine  ;  Boy  Extricating  Thorn, — perfect. 

The  pictures  that  most  attracted  me  were  Raph- 
ael's Madonna  and  Child  ;  Correggio's  Repose  on 
the  Flight  to  Egypt ;  del  Sarto's  Madonna  with  SS 
John  and  Francis  ;  Durer,  Adoration  of  the  Magi  ; 
Michael  Angelo,  Holy  Family. 

A  fitting  ending  to  this  rare,  rare  day,  was  a  visit 
to  the  Protestant  cemetery  and  the  grave  of  P^lizabeth 
Barrett  Browning.  On  her  monument  are  a  beautiful 
bas-relief  of  this  greatest  of  women  poets  and  the 
initials,  "  E.  B.  B."  To  think  that  she  and  Robert 
Browning,  so  united  in  life,  must  be  separated  in 
death,  is   heart-breaking.     In    this    beautiful,   quiet 


A   YOUNG   WOMAN   JOURNALIST.  121 

spot  under  the  blue  Italian  sk}-,  lie  also  Theodore 
Parker,  Walter  Savage  Landor   and  Arthur  Clough. 

J2ily  21. — A  round  of  churches.  First,  to  the 
Duomo,  the  most  beautiful  exterior  I  have  ever  seen, 
all  white,  black,  pink  and  blue  marble.  Rare  paint- 
ings and  the  most  exquisite  carvings,  fine  as  laces, 
and  statues,  embellish  the  entire  front.  The  interior 
seemed  verj^  bare  after  the  ornate  outside,  looks  much 
as  if  a  man  buiit  so  fine  a  house  he  had  nothing  left 
with  which  to  furnish  it  ;  but  it  is  very  impressive, 
owing  to  its  grand  dimensions.  The  stained  glass 
windows  are  ver}^  rich  in  coloring.  B}^  the  side 
door  are  a  portrait  of  Dante  and  a  scene  from  the 
Divine    Comedy. 

The  Campanile,  or  bell  tower,  the  unrivalled  work 
of  Giotto,  is  two  hundred  and  ninety-two  feet  high, 
coated  with  many-colored  marbles  to  correspond  with 
the  cathedral,  and  adorned  with  statues  and  reliefs 
by  Donatello,  Andrea  Pisano  and  other  masters.  It 
consists  of  four  stories.  Ruskin  says  of  it:  "The 
characteristics  of  Power  and  Beauty  occur  more  or 
•less  in  different  buildings,  some  in  one  and  some  in 
another.  But  altogether  and  all  in  their  highest 
possible  relative  degrees,  they  exist,  .so  far  as  I  know, 
in  only  one  building  in  the  world,  the  Campanile  of 
Giotto." 

Ju.st  across  from  the  Duomo  is  the  Baptistery  with 
its  celebrated  bronze  doors  by  Ghiberti,  said  b}- 
Michael  Angelo  to  be  fit  to  be  the  doors  of  Paradise. 
They  are  indeed  a  marvel  of  art ;  every  figure — birds, 
trees  and  clouds — stands  out  full  of  action.  The 
scenes  are  from  Scriptural  history. 


122  A    YOUNG    WOMAN    JOURNALIST. 

We  witnessed  the  baptism  of  two  babies  not  over 
two  days  old.  One  was  of  the  poorer  class,  the  other 
of  the  richer.  A  boy  not  over  five  j-ears  old  was  god- 
father of  the  latter.  How  I  did  pity  the  poor  little 
things,  so  tightly  bound  that  they  were  like  mum- 
mies. They  were  so  purple  in  the  face  I  feared  they 
would  die  ;  but  what  if  they  did  ?  their  salvation  was 
secured  (?)  by  a  priest  mumbling  over  them  and 
pouring  water  on  their  heads.  Ever)'  Catholic  child 
in  Florence  is  brought  here  to  be  baptized. 

We  had  a  touch  of  the  modern,  in  the  chapel  of 
the  princes  of  the  Medici  family  at  the  S.  Lorenzo, 
one  of  the  most  ancient  churches  in  Italy.  The 
cloisters  are  a  refuge  for  homeless  cats  which  are  fed 
here  daily  at  noon.  We  did  not  see  that  interesting 
performance,  but  I  am  glad  to  know  that  such  kind- 
ness exists  in  this  cold,  cold  world  !  The  chapel  of 
the  Prince  is  gorgeously  decorated  with  marble  and 
mosaics  in  stone.  In  six  niches  were  the  magnificent 
sarcophagi  of  the  princes.  The  marble  cushions  were 
all  studded  with  jewels.  Four  million,  four  hun- 
dred thousand  dollars  was  expended  by  the  Medici 
on  the  construction  and  decoration  of  this  chapel. 

In  the  new  sacristy,  built  by  IMichael  Angelo,  are 
his  great  statues.  One  would  know  instantly  that  a 
master  hand  wrought  here.  Of  the  statue  of  Lorenzo 
de  Medici,  Hav^^thorne  says:  "  After  looking  at  it  a 
little  while,  it  comes  to  life  and  you  see  the  princely 
figure  is  brooding  over  some  great  design  *  *  * 
No  such  grandeur  and  majesty  have  elsewhere  been 
put  into  human  shape.  It  is  all  a  miracle ;  the 
deep   repose    and    the   deep   life   within    it."     Below 


A   YOUNG   WOMAN   JOURNALIST.  1 23 

this,  are  the  tomb,  and  the  statues  of  Evening  and 
Dawn. 

Just  opposite,  is  the  mausoleum  of  Guiliano  de 
Medici.  Below,  are  Day  and  Night.  The  latter  is 
a  grand  female  form.  On  the  pedestal  is  written  : 
"Sleep  is  sweet,  and  3'et  more  sweet  is  it  to  be  of 
stone  while  misery  and  wrong  endure.  Not  to  see, 
not  to  feel,  is  my  joy.  So  wake  me  not  !  Ah,  speak 
in  whispers."  Thus  does  the  great  sculptor  express 
his  own  sorrow  over  the  destruction  of  the  free  gov- 
ernment of  his  beloved  Florence. 

The  walls  are  unadorned,  and  only  the  great 
master's  hand  is  apparent.  As  I  looked,  the  mar- 
bles seemed  to  move,  and  I  had  the  feeling  that, 
should  I  speak  aloud,  Lorenzo  would  start  and  look 
up,  and  probably  frown  at  me  for  disturbing  his  pro- 
found reverie.  What  genius  was  Michael  Angelo's  I 
How  marvelous!}^  he  wrought  in  stone,  yet  how  much 
grander  to  mould  and  shape  human  beings,  if  for 
good  ! 

The  S.  Maria  Novella  is  perhaps  the  purest  and 
most  elegant  example  of  Tuscan  Gothic.  A  fat,  jolly 
monk,  who  took  great  pains  to  show  us  all  the  devils 
in  the  pictures  and  enjoyed  them  immensely  himself, 
showed  us  all  about.  Here  are  some  fine  and  cele- 
brated paintings :  Cimabue's  Madonna,  The  La.st 
Judgment,  and  Paradise,  by  Andrea  Orcagna  ;  Hell, 
by  his  brother  Bernardo.  The  cloisters  are  also  very 
fine,  the  walls  covered  with  frescoes. 

A  drive  past  the  homes  of  Michael  Angelo  and 
Dante,  situated  in  dirty  back  streets,  ended  the 
morning.     In  what  footsteps  are  we   treading  !     All 


124  ^   YOUNG   WOMAN   JOURNALIST. 

the  afternoon  I  spent  in  writing  letters  to  my  loved 
ones.     Would  that  they  were  with  me. 

July  22.-1  did  not  feel  well,  so  saw  the  party  go 
off  without  me.  Spent  the  morning  in  bed.  The 
first  moment  I  have  "lost"  since  leaving  home.  In 
the  afternoon  Mrs.  Lawrence  took  us  to  see  the 
marble  mosaics  manufactured.  It  is  simply  wonder- 
ful what  is  done  with  little  pieces  of  stone  !  The 
most  delicately-tinted  plumage  of  birds  is  represented, 
and  the  expression  of  faces.  What  careful  work  it 
all  requires,  and  the  laborers  are  only  paid  about 
one  and  one-half  to  two  francs  a  day,  thirty  or  forty 
cents. 

July  2j. — My  last  day  in  Florence,  and  a  very 
delightful  one.  First,  we  went  to  S.  Croce,  the 
Westminster  of  this  city.  In  the  piazza  is  a  very 
fine  monument  to  Dante,  inaugurated  with  great 
solemnity  on  the  six  hundredth  anniversary  of  the 
birth  of  the  poet,  1 265-1865.  Would  that  America 
would  use  her  surplus  in  erecting  statues  to  her  great 
men  and  decorating  her  cities!  The  glass  in  the 
central  window  in  the  church  is  from  drawings  l)y 
Ghiberti,  The  sun  streamed  through,  bringing  out 
all  the  richness  of  the  coloring.  On  the  right,  is 
the  tomb  of  Michael  Angelo,  whose  remains  repose 
below ;  near  by,  the  monument  to  Dante,  who  is 
buried  at  Ravenna.  The  marble  pulpit,  with  its 
beautiful  bas-reliefs,  is  the  finest  in  Italy,  and  this 
is  a  land  of  pulpits. 

Rossini,  the  composer,  lies  here.  As  I  reached 
the  Cappella  Medici,  I  observed  a  man  on  his  knees 
saying   his  prayers  most  devoutlj-.     In  a  .second  he 


A    YOUNG   WOMAN   JOURNALIST.  1 25 

turned  around  and  holding  out  his  hand  begged  for 
money.  Italy  is  the  home  of  paupers  and  priests. 
The  Bonaparte  family  has  a  chapel  here  containing 
se\^eral  fine  monuments.  Next  it,  is  the  chapel  where 
are  Giotto's  principal  paintings,  the  work  of  his  ripest 
years,  full  of  intellectual  life  and  unadulterated  truth- 
fulness. In  the  Cappella  Bardi  Chapel,  which  Ruskin 
calls  the  most  interesting  and  perfect  Gothic  in  Italy, 
Giotto  depicts  scenes  from  the  life  of  St.  Francis. 

Every  inch  of  this  "Pantheon"  was  interesting 
and  I  left  it  with  regret. 

We  next  went  to  the  Piazza  della  Signonia,  once 
the  Forum  of  the  republic.  Here  stood  the  stake  at 
which  Savonarola  and  two  other  Dominican  monks 
were  burned  in  1498.  In  the  Palazzo  Vecchio,  is  the 
great  hall,  where  Savonarola  used  to  address  the 
Italian  Parliament.  At  a  hole  high  up  in  the  wall 
Lorenzo  de  Medici  used  to  listen  to  what  was  being 
said  below. 

Entering  the  Ufifizi  Gallery  I  saw  pictures  literally 
by  the  yard,  on  my  way  to  the  Pitti.  Hundreds  of 
departed  brave  men  and  fair  ladies  looked  upon  me  as 
I  passed.  The  covered  way  between  the  two  galleries 
is  at  least  one  half  mile  in  length  ;  from  the  windows 
I  looked  down  upon  lovely  gardens,  fountains,  grot- 
toes, and  magnolia  trees  in  full  bloom. 

Since  the  sixteenth  century  the  Pitti  Palace  has 
been  the  residence  of  the  reigning  sovereign,  and  is 
now  that  of  King  Humbert,  when  in  Florence.  It 
outwardly  resembles  a  prison,  as  do  all  Italian  pal- 
aces; plain,  with  iron  bars  across  all  the  windows,  but 
within,  as  we  catch  glimpses,  all  is  beauty,  and  the 


126  A    YOU-\G    WOMAX   JOURNALIST. 

gardens  are  rarely  lovely.  Such  palms  as  rear  their 
statelj'  heads,  and  oleanders,  huge  trees  in  full  bloom  ! 

No  gallery  in  the  world  can  boast  of  so  many 
masterpieces  as  the  Pitti.  It  contains  only  about 
five  hundred  pictures,  but  every  one  is  a  gem.  The 
rooms  in  which  they  are  placed  are  very  handsome 
also. 

The  treasures  of  the  gallerj'  culminate  in  Raphael's 
works,  of  which  there  are  a  dozen.  The  exquisite 
Madonna  della  Sedia  (the  Madonna  of  the  Chair),  is 
here  ;  no  other  work  is  so  well  known,  it  is  said,  and 
it  should  be  so,  for  no  other  breathes  such  serene 
happiness.  It  is  a  most  fitting  seal  for  the  Woman's 
Christian  Temperance  Union. 

Some  of  the  other  pictures  are  Madonna  della  Impaunata. 
Hawthorne  calls  it  the  most  beautiful  picture  in  the  world  and 
it  excels  all  of  Raphael's  previous  Madonnas  in  the  charm  of 
profound  feeling. 

Andrea  del  Sarto  :  Conference  of  the  Fathers  of  the 
Church,  Regarding  the  Doctrine  of  the  Trinity. 

Annunciation. 

Historj'  of  Joseph. 

Holy  Family. 

Descent  from  the  Cross. 

Rubens  :  Holy  Family. 

Rubens  with  his  Brothers  and  Scholars.  A  bunch  of  tulips 
in  a  glass  adds  most  charming  effect 

The  Three  Fates,  the  author  unknown. 

Titian's  INIagdalene, — merely  a  handsome  girl. 

Murillo's  Madonna,  my  favorite  of  all  I  have  seen,  except 
those  by  Raphael.  The  sweet  mother  holding  the  Child,  who 
stands  and  looks  at  you  with  a  divine  expression,  wins  your 
heart  at  once. 

Albert  Diirer:  .Vdam.  The  most  perfect  treatment  of  the 
nude  yet  produced  by  northern  art. 


A   YOUNG    WOMAN    JOURNALIST.  1 27 

Madonna  of  the  Canopy,  Raphael. 

The  Virgin  on  Throne,  Holding  Child — two  angels  hold 
back  curtains. 

We  passed  a  small  bath-room  most  luxuriously 
fitted  up — all  marble  and  mosaics,  with  four  statues. 
Next  it,  was  the  saloon  with  frescoes  representing  the 
golden,  silver,  brazen  and  iron  ages,  and  two  statues 
in  bronze,  Cain  and  Abel,  by  Depre.  It  is  said  they 
aroused  great  jealousy  among  his  contemporaries, 
who  said  they  were  cast  over  a  dead  body,  so  abso- 
lutely perfect  were  they,  but  when  measured  they 
were  found  to  be  four  times  the  size  of  a  man,  so  the 
lie  was  refuted.  The  expression  of  Cain's  face  is 
wonderful.  He  is  represented  fleeing  through  the 
world,  his  hands  on  his  forehead. 

The  pastor  of  St.  Luke's  M.  E.  Church,  New 
York,  a  very  fine  and  interesting  man,  dined  with  us, 
and  afterwards  we  went  to  ride.  He  had  just  come 
from  Rome,  where  he  said  Catholicism  may  be  seen 
in  all  its  hideousness.  Poor,  priest-ridden  Italy  ! 
three  hundred  thousand  leeches  bleed  you, — and  yet, 
I  wonder  if  it  is  not  better  than  no   religion. 

We  ascended  the  heights  in  windings,  and  reach- 
ing the  Piazza  we  alighted  to  enjoy  the  charming 
view.  In  the  center  of  the  Piazza  rises  a  bronze  copy 
of  Michael  Angelo's  David,  very  imposing. 

Below  us  lay  the  city,  but  dimly  discerned  in  the 
gathering  twilight.  The  Arno,  flowing  through  its 
heart,  reflected  the  domes  and  turrets  and  every  light 
as  if  it  were  a  mirror.  To  the  right,  lay  Fiesole,  to 
the  left,  the  villa-covered  heights  ;  in  the  center,  the 
city    with  the  Cathedrals  S.  Croce   and  S.  Lorenzo, 


128  A    YOUNG   WOMAN   JOURNALIST. 

the  Palazzo  Vecchio,  S.  Maria  Novella  and  the  Lun- 
gariio. 

I  can  never  forget  that  exalted  view  of  beautiful 
Florence.  It  was  like  a  dream  ;  indeed,  was  one  of 
my  dreams  of  years,  materialized,  and  I  could  not 
believe  it. 

I  wonder  if  Savonarola  used  to  come  to  this 
height,  and  looking  upon  his  beloved  home,  would  he 
weep  ?  Did  the  Brownings  walk  upon  this  beautiful 
site,  and  talk  of  life  and  its  fullness?  Did  George 
Eliot  find  here  the  quiet  and  grandeur  that  her  rest- 
less, noble  heart  demanded?  Did  Michael  Angelo, 
from  this  height,  look  down  upon  his  own  magnifi- 
cent creations  ?  What  a  cloud  of  witnesses  around 
this  spot  !  Yes,  all  have  been  here,  and  all  are  gone. 
When  will  the  world  see  another  such  galaxy  ? 

July  2j. — At  7:30  we  were  en  route  for  the  Eter- 
nal City. 

July  ^c?.— Gladly  and  yet  regretfully,  I  left  the 
Eternal  City.  Gladly,  because  it  was  warm,  and,  too, 
I  had  the  feeling  that  I  was  attending  a  continual 
funeral,  and  was  oppressed  by  ponderous  remem- 
brances. In  so  close  proximity  with  the  Past,  the 
Present  seemed  to  have  no  right  to  be,  or  I,  with 
my  little  deeds  and  puny  desirts. 

Leaving  the  city,  we  passed  by  the  old  walls  in- 
closing what  once  was  the  ruler  of  the  world,  and  soon 
the  dome  of  St.  Peter's  faded  from  sight ;  the  seven 
hills  were  scarcely  discernible  and  Rome  was  no  more 
before  my  eyes.  I  pinched  my  arm  to  see  if  I  was 
really  myself,  and  finding  I  was  flesh  and  blood,  fell 
to  dreaming  dreams.     How  little  time  it  seems  since 


A    YOUNG    WOMAN   JOURNALIST.  1 29 

Romulus  established  his  city  on  the  Palatine  Hill ; 
everywhere  we  saw  signs  that  the  old  fable  has  taken 
deep  hold  on  the  hearts  of  the  people,  and  they 
keep  it  fresh  in  their  minds  by  statues  representing 
the  wolf  nourishing  Romulus  and  Remus. 

Only  two  thousand  years  since  Christ  lived  among 
men  and  suffered  and  died  !  What  a  moment  it 
seems  !  Why  did  the  Father  let  so  many  ages  go  by 
before  the  completion  of  His  great  plan  of  redemption, 
I  wonder?  Only  two  thousand  years,  and  j^et  how 
Christianity  has  swept  the  earth  and  shaken  every 
false  doctrine  from  its  rotten  pedestal  !     Surely, 

"  Our  days  are  iu  His  bauds 
Who  said,  'A  whole  I  plauned.'  " 

Just  here  my  blessed  thoughts  were  disturbed  by 
exclamations  from  the  girls,  who  caught  the  first 
glimpse  of  the  Mediterranean  Sea,  and  soon  we 
sighted  the  island  of  Elba,  made  immortal  by  the 
great  Napoleon.  We  left  the  coast  all  too  soon,  and 
the  scenery  became  uninteresting.  The  long-horned 
cattle,  a  Roman  peculiarity,  were  feeding  on  the 
dried-up  grass,  and  occasionally  we  passed  a  prairie 
fire. 

It  was  late  when  we  reached  Pisa,  and  all  were 
glad  when  we  were  inside  the  walls  of  the  quiet  old 
town.  Never  can  I  forget  the  night  I  spent  there. 
No  sooner  were  we  in  bed  than  at  least  one  thousand 
mosquitos  attacked  us.  Within  five  minutes  my 
face  was  covered  with  gore  and  my  bod}'-  with 
corpses.     The  battle  continued  until  morning  and  by 


130  A    YOUNG    WOMAN  JOURNALIST. 

the  looks  of  all  our  faces,  I  think  the  "foxy"  insect 
got  the  better  of  us. 

After  breakfast  we  drove  around  town  on  our  way 
to  the  centers  of  interest.  At  the  gate  of  the  city,  a 
guard  looked  into  our  carriage  to  see  if  we  had  food. 
This  is  the  rule  in  all  Italian  cities. 

Pisa,  at  the  beginning  of  the  eleventh  century,  was 
one  of  the  greatest  commercial  and  .seafaring  towns 
on  the  Mediterranean,  a  rival  of  Venice  and  Genoa. 
We  crossed  the  Arno — so  dear  because  of  beautiful 
Florence — and  came  to  that  "group  of  buildings 
without  a  parallel,"  the  Cathedral,  Leaning  Tower 
and  Baptistery,  and  Campo  Santo  (Holy  Ground)  ; 
situated  as  these  are,  beyond  the  town  and  its  dis- 
turbing influences,  they  seemed  more  sacred  than  any 
others  we  have  visited. 

The  Cathedral  was  erected  after  the  great  naval 
victory  of  the  Pisans  near  Palermo  in  1063.  It  is 
con.structed  entirely  of  white  marble,  with  black  and 
colored  ornamentations.  The  fagade  is  most  beauti- 
ful ;  the  work  is  so  fine  that  it  looks  like  lace.  The 
roof  is  richly  gilded. 

In  the  center  of  the  nave  is  the  bronze  lamp,  the 
swaying  of  which  first  suggested  to  Galileo  the  idea 
of  the  pendulum.  The  interior  is  all  very  rich  in 
mosaics,  bronze  and  marble. 

The  Baptistery,  a  few  steps  from  the  Cathedral,  is 
circular  and  of  white  marble.  The  font  is  under  the 
conical  dome.  The  interior  is  plain  with  the  excep- 
tion of  the  famous  hexagonal  pulpit,  with  its  wonder- 
ful reliefs  b}'  Nicolo  Pisano.  They  represent  (i) 
Annunciation    and    Nativity,    (2)    Adoration    of    the 


A   YOUNG   WOMAN  JOURNALIST.  131 

Magi,  (3)  Presentation  in  the  Temple,  (4)  Cruci- 
fixion, (5)  The  Last  Judgment.  The  Virgin  in  the 
reliefs  is  most  stately  and  queenly. 

.  The  custodian  sounded  several  notes  and  they 
were  repeated  again  and  again  and  again,  in  most 
beautifully  harmonious  chords,  making  the  finest 
echo  I  have  heard. 

The  Leaning  Tower  was  more  remarkably  inclined 
than  I  had  expected  to  find  it.  It  is  one  hundred 
and  seventy-nine  feet  high  and  thirteen  feet  out  of 
the  perpendicular.  It  is  about  decided  that  this 
peculiarity  was  intentional — another  fond  delusion  of 
my  youth  dispelled  !  Galileo  used  here  to  make  his 
experiments  regarding  the  laws  of  gravitation.  The 
Tower  contains  seven  bells,  which  somewhat  com- 
forted me  in  the  night  hours,  when  I  was  keeping 
an  enforced  vigil. 

In  the  Campo  Santo  I  longed  to  linger  and  rest  ; 
it  was  so  quiet  and  peaceful,  with  its  flowers,  birds, 
monuments  and  paintings.  These  burial  grounds  are 
like  the  veranda  on  the  three  sides  of  our  house  in 
Streator,  only  in  front  are  beautiful  carved  arches  and 
pillars.  This  was  founded  in  1200.  After  the  loss 
of  the  Holy  Land  fifty-three  ship-loads  of  earth  were 
brought  hither  from  Mt.  Calvary  that  the  dead  might 
repose  in  holy  ground.  Three  chapels  adjoin  the 
Campo.  The  walls  are  covered  with  frescoes,  the 
most  interesting  and  celebrated  being  the  Triumph  of 
Death,  a  startling  picture  embodying  the  old  ideas 
of  Calvin.  In  the  center  is  Death,  with  horned 
flames  shooting  around  him  and  little  devils  chasing 
unhappy  souls  trying  to  escape. 


132  A   YOUNG  WOMAN  JOURNALIST. 

How  I  rejoiced  that  I  live  in  an  age  which  has, 
with  God's  blessed  dynamite  of  love,  blown  up  these 
horrible  conceptions  of  Him,  and  in  their  places 
given  us  love  and  justice  and  mercy  and  long-suffer- 
ing. The  world  progresses  ;  a  visit  to  Kurope  is  the 
best  remedy  I  know  for  a  pessimist. 

On  another  wall,  among  monuments  to  the  great 
and  good  who  have  found  their  last  resting-place  in 
this  quiet  spot,  hung  the  chains  of  the  ancient  harbor 
of  Pisa,  captured  by  the  Genoese  in  1848  and  given 
to  the  Florentines,  who  returned  them  in  i860. 

Returning,  we  passed  the  St.  Maria  della  Spina, 
so  called  from  a  fragment  of  the  veritable  Crown  of 
Thorns  once  preserved  there  ;  an  elegant  little  church 
in  the  Pisan  Gothic  style,  erected  for  sailors  about  to 
go  to  sea.  Some  such  beautiful  thoughts  in  stone 
almost  reconcile  one  to  Romanism.  This  church  is 
the  most  perfect  Gothic  flower  I  have  seen.  You 
would  suppose  the  architect  must  have  softened  the 
stone  into  wax,  until  his  most  delicate  fancies  were 
modeled  in  the  pliant  material,  and  then  hardened  it 
into  stone  again. 

At  nine  o'clock  we  were  01  route  for  Milan.  The 
railroad,  which  is  a  marvel  of  engineering,  gave  us 
an  almost  uninterrupted  series  of  charming  views  of 
land  and  sea.  Long  before  noon  my  breath  was  ex- 
hausted by  constant  exclamations.  How  I  love  the 
beautiful  sea  !  How  I  rejoiced  in  it  and  the  mount- 
ains, after  southern  Italy  ! 

We  passed  through  eighty-five  tunnels  cut  out  of 
the  rock  at  the  very  edge  of  the  sea.  Never  have  I 
seen  such  a  perfect  body  of  water.     Truly,  it  is  the 


A   YOUNG    WOMAN  JOURNALIST.  1 33 

blue  Mediterranean,  and  such  an  intense  blue  ;  noth- 
ing can  compai-e  with  it,  unless  it  be  sunny  Italy's 
azure  sky.  The  beach  was  lined  with  bathers.  We 
watched  them  splashing  in  the  cool  water  with  en- 
vious eyes.  Two  young  divers  jumped  from  a  high 
rock  down  into  the  foaming  surf  and  verily  I  thought 
they  would  dash  their  brains  out,  but  they  came  up 
again  smiling  and  bowing  to  us  as  we  moved  off.  On 
the  high  points  were  lovely  castles  and  villas.  The 
little  towns  are  full  of  pensions  built  on  the  gently 
sloping  hills  ;  most  attractive  they  looked. 

I  longed  to  stop  at  Carrara  and  visit  the  far-famed 
quarries,  but  there  was  not  time  ;  about  six  thou- 
sand men  work  the  four  hundred  quarries. 

We  could  have  spent  two  weeks  most  delightfully 
on  this  trip.  Charming  excursions  can  be  made  from 
almost  every  point,  by  steamer  and  carriage.  I 
closed  my  eyes  and  saw  the  wonderful  views  in  fancy. 

At  Nervi,  surrounded  with  groves  of  fine  olives, 
oranges  and  lemons,  we  had  a  noble  survey  of  the 
sea  and  valley.  All  this  country  is  most  fertile. 
Would  that  I  could  paint  the  scene  !  To  the  right, 
the  Mediterranean,  glittering  in  the  sun  and  dotted 
with  snowy  sails  ;  to  the  left,  the  olive-clad  Apen- 
nines, sprinkled  with  country  houses,  villas,  dense 
lemon  plantations,  fig  and  palm  trees. 

Early  in  the  afternoon  we  saw  the  fortress- 
crowned  heights  of  Genoa,  and  in  another  minute  we 
were  in  the  long  tunnel  through  which  we  enter  the 
city.  Only  time  to  change  cars,  not  even  a  glimpse 
of  the  fine  statue  of  Columbus.  The  houses  are 
very  much  decorated  outside,  paintings  being  on  the 


134  A    YOUNG    WOMAN    JOURNALIST. 

windows  and  window-blinds.  Many  steamers  were 
in  the  harbor  and  there  was  a  general  commercial 
look.  The  city  is  very  picturesquely  built  on  a 
steep  hillside.  I  did  not  know,  until  I  read  it  in 
Baedeker,  that  it  is  the  chief  commercial  city  in  Italy. 
It  is  called  "  I^a  Superba,"  because  of  its  fine  situ- 
ation and  numerous  palaces. 

July  JO. — At  eight  o'clock  we  reached  Milan  and 
soon  were  at  the  Hotel  de  1' Europe — a  very  comfort- 
able place.  How  luxurious  our  large,  handsomely 
furnished  room  seemed,  only  weary  travelers  like  our- 
selves can  appreciate  !  From  our  balcony  we  could 
almost  touch  the  beautiful  Cathedral,  and  under  its 
shadow  we  slept  most  peacefully.  With  difficulty  we 
were  ready  for  our  nine  o'clock  breakfast  in  the  pleas- 
ant dining-room,  which  looks  into  a  garden  house 
decorated  with  a  most  extraordinary  picture  of  a 
masked  carnival  in  Venice. 

This  city  certainly  deserves  its  name  of  "La 
Grande."  Very  modern  and  sweet-smelling  it  seemed 
after  decaying,  musty  old  Rome.  The  .shops  are  ele- 
gant and  reminded  me  of  New  York  and  Chicago. 
Milan  is  the  capital  of  Lombardy,  the  chief  financial 
center  of  Italy,  and  ranks  next  to  Naples  in  popula- 
tion— three  hundred  and  seventy-three  thousand. 

Our  first  visit  was  to  the  Cathedral.  It  looked 
just  as  I  had  expected,  from  the  many  pictures  I  have 
seen,  and  is  surely  the  eighth  wonder  of  the  world. 
Next  to  St.  Peter's  in  Rome  and  the  cathedral  at  Se- 
ville, it  is  the  largest  church  in  Europe.  It  holds 
forty  thousand  people. 


A   YOUNG   WOMAN  JOURNALIST.  1 35 

The  interior  is  very  attractive  ;  the  great  columns 
with  canopied  niches  containing  statues,  in  place  of 
capitals,  give  an  effect  of  richness.  The  stained  glass 
in  the  three  vast  choir  windows  is  magnificent.  It 
represents  three  hundred  and  fifty  Scriptural  subjects. 
The  sunlight  came  through  in  a  flood  of  glory. 

We  mounted  nearly  to  the  top  of  the  dome  by  five 
hundred  steps,  and  there  had  a  fine  view  of  the  flying 
buttresses  and  innumerable  points  tipped  with  statues 
which  from  the  ground  seemed  mere  pigmies,  but  here 
were  life-size.  The  view  of  the  city  was  fine,  but  it 
was  not  clear  enough  to  see  the  Matterhorn  and  other 
mountains. 

Taking  carriages  we  drove  to  S.  Marie  della  Gra- 
zie,  formerly  an  abbey  church,  but  now  a  barrack,  and 
once  used  by  Napoleon's  soldiers  as  a  stable. 

In  the  refectory  is  Leonardo  da  Vinci's  I^ast  Sup- 
per, the  first  picture  that  made  an  impression  on  me 
as  a  child.  This  great  master  was  one  of  the  most 
remarkable  geniuses  in  the  history  of  art.  He  was 
no  less  gifted  in  science,  music  and  poetry  than  in 
painting  and  sculpture.  Liibke  says  his  peculiarities 
are  ' '  extreme  scrupulousness  about  the  nicest  details, 
a  certain  massiveness  in  designing  and  modeling  and 
an  airy  softness  of  outline  and  delicate  blending  of 
colors."  The  L,ast  Supper  was  painted  in  1496-98. 
It  is  badly  preserved  but  more  perfect  than  I  had 
expected.  "A  picture  in  ruins,"  and  j-et  enough 
remains  of  the  grouping  and  expression  of  the  faces  to 
make  it  wonderful.  The  face  of  Christ  is  more  nearly 
my  ideal  than  any  I  have  ever  seen  ;  so  full  of  heav- 
enly resignation.     The  room  in  which  this  noble  work 


136  A   YOUNG   WOMAN  JOURNALIST. 

of  art  is,  seems  most  unfitting  ;  bare  walls,  an  un- 
painted  pine  table  and  pine  floor,  and  yet  the  picture 
is  so  grand  it  dignifies  and  makes  attractive  its 
homely  surroundings.  We  saw  a  fine  copj'  for  sale, 
price  two  thousand  dollars.  The  artist  had  most  per- 
fectly' caught  the  great  master's  expression. 

The  Brera,  or  Palace  of  Science  and  Art,  contains 
the  picture  gallery  and  library.  In  the  center  of  the 
court  is  Canova's  fine  statue  of  Napoleon  I.  holding 
in  his  hand  an  image  of  Victory. 

The  gem  of  the  collection  is  Raphael's  Sposalizio, 
or  Marriage  with  Joseph,  painted  in  1504.  Mary  in 
the  center  is  attended  by  a  group  of  graceful  virgins, 
while  near  Joseph  are  the  rejected  suitors,  one  of 
whom  breaks  his  shriveled  wand.  According  to  the 
story,  each  lover  was  given  a  wand  and  the  one  that 
budded  was  the  chosen  of  the  Lord.  Joseph  carries 
his  wand  which  is  covered  with  buds.  The  concep- 
tion is  very  sweet  and  the  grouping  and  coloring  are 
delicate. 

I  was  greatly  attracted  to  the  original  drawing  of 
the  head  of  Christ,  for  The  Last  Supper.  It  haunts 
me. 

Other  pictures  were,  Guercino's  Hagar  and  Abra- 
ham ;  Guido's  St.  Paul  reproving  St.  Peter  ;  Titian, 
St.  Jerome,  Hirroble  ;  Rembrandt,  Portrait  of  a  Lad)-; 
Mantegna,  Pieta  ;  Guido  Reni,  SS.  Paul  and  Peter  ; 
Rubens,  Last  Supper. 

The  afternoon  we  spent  in  shopping  in  the  Palazzo 
Reale,  with  its  handsome  court  with  a  double  colon- 
nade and  statues  and  fountains.  In  the  Piazza  della 
Scala  is  the  fine  monument  of  Leonardo  da  Vinci  by 


A    YOUNG    WOMAN   JOURNALIST.  1 37 

Magni.  It  is  over  life-size,  of  Carrara  marble,  stands 
on  a  lofty  pedestal  surrounded  by  statues  of  four  of 
his  pupils  and  adorned  with  copies  of  his  principal 
works  in  relief. 

July  ^T. — At  7:  30  we  were  on  our  way  to  lyUcerne. 
What  a  wonderful  journey  it  is  !  We  traversed  a 
fertile  plain,  luxuriantly  clothed  with  vinej'ards  and 
fields  of  maize,  went  through  many  tunnels,  and 
passed  through  Monza.  In  the  cathedral  is  the  Iron 
Crown  of  Lombardy,  said  to  contain  an  iron  band 
made  from  a  nail  of  the  true  cross,  presented  by  Pope 
Gregory  to  Queen  Theodolinda  in  the  sixth  century. 
It  was  used  at  the  coronation  of  Charles  V.,  of  Napo- 
leon, in  1805,  and  of  Ferdinand  I.,  in  1838. 

How  beautiful  Lake  Como  looked  as  it  came  into 
view,  deeply  imbedded  in  the  Alps,  with  its  shores 
and  mountain  slopes  dotted  with  towns  and  villas 
and  rich  in  tropical  vegetation.  An  ideal  spot  for  a 
honeymoon,  I  thought,  for  any  one  anticipating  such 
an  event.  The  water  was  celestial  blue  and  reflected 
like  a  mirror.  Its  length  is  thirty  miles.  This  is 
the  favorite  resort  of  the  rich  Milanese, 


^toit^crlantr. 


OON  after  leaving  Como  we  came  to 
Chiasso,  our  first  Swiss  village,  and 
said  farewell  to  beautiful  Ital}'  —  by 
nature  so  endowed,  by  men  so  out- 
raged. A  very  funny  experience 
with  the  custom-house  awaited  us.  We 
had  been  told  the  examination  was  severe, 
but  our  bags  were  not  even  opened  ;  but  two 
officers  came  and  took  Miss  N.  and  Miss  D.  into  the 
baggage  car,  much  to  the  disgust  of  the  latter  and 
against  her  protest. 

We  passed  on  through  Paradiso  tunnel  under  the 
spur  of  Monte  Salavatore,  and  skirted  the  shore  of 
Lake  Lugano,  having  a  beautiful  view  of  the  lake 
which  branches  into  two  bays. 

The  town  of  Lazano  is  beautifully  situated,  and 
possesses  all  the  charm  of  Italian  scenery,  with  the 
added  delight  of  Swiss  mountains.  In  the  distance 
we  caught  a  tantalizingly  short  glimpse  of  Lake  Maz- 
zonio.  On,  on  we  went,  past  snow-clad  peaks  and 
dashing  waterfalls  and  through  wonderful  tunnels 
forming  perfect  loops.  Often  the  train  would  emerge 
directly  above  where  it  entered  a  mountain,  only 
many  feet  higher. 


A   YOUNG    WOMAN   JOURNALIST.  1 39 

The  rushing,  roaring  Reuss  followed  us,  its  clear 
waters  churned  to  milky  foam  by  the  great  rocks  that 
form  its  bed.  Gorges  worn  by  rivers  and  waterfalls 
we  crossed  by  iron  bridges,  and  finally  entered  the  St. 
Gothard  tunnel,  nine  and  one-quarter  miles  in  length, 
that  marvel  of  tunnels  which  cost  two  million  three 
hundred  and  seventy-five  thousand  pounds.  We  were 
eighteen  minutes  in  going  through.  The  scenery 
from  here  was  more  and  more  grand  and  beautiful ; 
many  times  we  crossed  the  brawling  Reuss  by  im- 
posing bridges,  three  hundred  feet  high,  ascended 
mountains  by  means  of  curved  tunnels  and  beheld  on 
either  side  the  Alps  towering  into  the  heavens,  eight, 
nine,  and  ten  thousand  feet.  At  Fluelen  we  took  the 
steamer  and  I'met  on  board  Bishop  Foss  and  his  son 
and  daughter.  It  seemed  as  if  we  had  come  out  of 
nature's  heart  back  to  giddy  civilization,  when  we 
reached  the  steamer,  crowded  with  handsomely- 
dressed  people.  I  immediately  put  on  my  gloves, 
which  I  had  not  seen  for  a  week,  and  felt  I  was  once 
more  in  the  harness. 

A  two  hours'  ride  on  this  ideal  lake  brought  us  to 
Lucerne.  On  the  way  we  passed  Tell's  Chapel, 
erected  on  the  spot  where  the  Swiss  liberator  sprang 
out  of  Gessler's  boat.  The  mountains  rise  abruptly 
on  either  side,  lofty  peaks,  snow-clad,  peep  through 
the  gorges  which  open  at  intervals. 

Bremen  has  the  finest  situation  of  any  place  on 
the  lake  because  it  has  a  survey'  of  both  arms.  All 
along  were  scattered  the  beautiful  villages.  As  we 
approached  Lucerne  we  had  a  strikingly  picturesque 
view  of  the   town  with   its  towers   and  battlements. 


140  A   YOUNG   WOMAN   JOURNALIST. 

We  landed  at  five  o'clock  and  soon  were  at  our 
hotel. 

Our  rooms  were  on  the  fourth  floor,  and  as  I  went 
to  the  window  and  looked  out  I  held  my  breath.  So 
exquisite  was  the  scene,  I  thought  God  had  with- 
drawn the  veil  which  separates  the  better  world  from 
ours,  and  given  me  a  glimpse  of  the  Eternal  City. 
At  ray  feet  lay  the  Lake  of  the  Four  Cantons,  its 
blue,  blue  surface  all  aglow  with  the  last  rays  of  the 
setting  sun  ;  to  the  left,  rose  the  Rigi,  and  to  the 
right,  Pilatus,  a  most  exquisite  lavender  edged  with 
gold  ;  directly  in  front,  were  lofty  peaks,  snow-clad, 
while  over  all  the  Jungfrau  reared  her  snowy  head. 
A  hundred  little  sailboats  dotted  the  lake.  As  I 
looked,  the  moon  came  out,  full-orbed,  and  changed 
all  the  golden  glory  to  a  silvery  sheen.  The  mount- 
ains stood  in  bolder  relief  against  the  white  back- 
ground and  the  water  was  changed  to  rippling,  molten 
silver,  I  knelt  long  and  let  that  wonderful  light 
absorb  me  into  itself,  and  prayed  God  would  thus 
take  me  into  Himself.  I  seemed  alone  with  my 
Creator  and  talked  with  Him,  face  to  face. 

Aug.  I. — We  started  early  for  the  Rigi.  A  delight- 
ful ride  of  two  hours  on  the  lake  brought  us  to  Vit- 
nau,  where  we  found  the  odd  little  engine  waiting  to 
push  us  up  the  great  mountain.  In  the  middle  of  the 
track  is  a  cog  track,  and  on  the  engine  a  cogwheel, 
so  it  is  quite  safe. 

It  seemed  like  being  freed  from  the  body  and  spirit 
only  to  mount  faster  and  faster  into  the  heavens  and 
watch  the  earth  recede.  The  views  as  one  rose  higher 
became   more   and  more   magnificent,  and    when  we 


A   YOUNG   WOMAN   JOURNALIST.  I41 

reached  the  Kulm,  six  thousand  feet  above  the  sea 
level,  the  panorama  was  superbly  beautiful.  It  was 
three  hundred  miles  in  circumference.  On  one  side 
stretched  the  snow-clad  Alps,  one  hundred  and  twenty 
miles  in  length,  with  many  huge  glaciers.  To  the 
north,  lay  four  cantons ;  fourteen  lakes  formed  the 
centers  for  numberless  little  villages,  clustered  on 
their  sides,  while  in  the  background  rose  the  forests. 

It  was  like  being  on  a  holy  mountain  apart  from 
all  the  world.  I  was  intoxicated  with  the  grandeur. 
Miss  U.  and  I  wandered  away  from  the  rest  and  gath- 
ered flowers,  then  had  dinner  at  the  fine  hotel  that 
crowns  the  summit.  As  I  ate,  I  looked  through  the 
window  to  the  huge,  snowy  crest  of  the  Glarnich,  cov- 
ered with  its  white  mantle  of  eternal  snow.  How  I 
love  these  God-made  pyramids,  one  and  all.  Rigi, 
the  ever- white  Jungfrau,  and  the  jagged  peaks  of  the 
somber  Pilatus. 

All  things  have  an  end,  and  we  were  obliged  to 
leave  this  heavenly  height,  and  descend  once  more  to 
the  earth  and  things  earthly.  Another  dreamy  ride 
on  the  beautiful  lake  and  we  were  back  in  our  room 
in  time  to  "drink  in"  the  sunset,  which  was  more 
beautiful  than  the  night  before,  if  possible,  for  just 
before  it  faded  the  wind  rose  and  the  water  was  cov- 
ered with  snowy  plumes  tinged  with  pink  and  gold. 
Suddenly,  a  rarely  perfect  rainbow  arched  the  sky. 
It  sprang  directly  from  the  lake  and  stretched  from 
mountain  to  mountain  ;  soon  another  appeared  and 
both  shone  with  unnatural  brilliancy  for  half  an  hour 
and  then  faded.  Dark  clouds  hung  over  the  mount- 
ains, and  when  the  round  face  of  the  moon  appeared. 


142  A    YOUNG    \VOMAN   JOURNALIST. 

it  was  against  a  black  background  which  made  the 
mountains  stand  out  as  if  cut  in  relief.  The  silver 
light  hung  all  about  them,  a  glowing  white  fringe. 
Above,  a  somber-hued  curtain  was  slowly  let  down 
until  it  met  the  brilliant  peaks  and  covered  the  smil- 
ing face,  and  all  was  darkness. 

Au^'-.  2. — In  the  afternoon  we  went  to  pay  our  re- 
spects to  the  patron  saint  of  the  town,  the  Lion  ol 
Lucerne.  We  found  him  where  he  has  been  since 
1 82 1,  when  he  was  cut  out  of  the  solid  rock.  The 
noble  old  hero  is  lying  on  his  side,  the  death  agony 
on  his  face.  He  is  transfixed  by  a  broken  lance  ;  with 
his  paw  he  shelters  the  Bourbon  lilies,  and  near  is  the 
Swiss  flag  with  its  white  cross.  No  more  magnificent 
monument  in  memory  of  the  seven  hundred  and  sixty 
Swiss  guards  who  fell  in  defense  of  the  Tuileries  could 
have  been  conceived.  Thorwaldsen  must  have  been 
inspired.  We  saw  his  model  in  the  shop  opposite. 
The  rock  bears  this  inscription  : 

"These  are  the  names  of  those  who  did  not  fail 
in  their  sacred  faith  and  died  fighting  bravely, 
twenty-six  leaders." 

Then  follow  the  names  of  the  officers.  The  rock 
is  overhung  with  trees  and  creepers.  A  spring  at 
the  top  flows  down  one  side  and  forms  a  dark  pool 
at  the  base. 

Home  to  elaborate  tabic  d'hbtc.  Rain  all  the 
evening. 

Snndixw  Aui;.  j.— Spent  a  quiet  morning  in  the 
comfortable  hotel.  I  never  had  such  a  "homey" 
feeling  in  so  fashionable  a  place.  Perhaps  it  is  the 
beautiful  stained   glass  window  in  the  entrance  hall 


A    YOUXG    WOMAN   JOURNALIST.  1 43 

with  its  "  Gruss  GoW  — "  God  greet  you.  "  Imagine 
such  a  thing  in  the  Palmer  House  I  In  the  afternoon 
Misses  M..  U.  and  I  took  a  stroll  about  the  quaint 
old  town,  more  beautiful  tor  situation  than  any  other 
I  have  seen.  Its  walls  are  well  presen-ed,  and  from 
them  rise  nine  watchtowers,  all  painted  with  histor- 
ical subjects.  We  walked  across  the  wooden  bridges 
which  cur\-e  over  the  rushing,  roaring,  raging  river 
Reuss  that  issues  from  the  lake  with  the  swiftness  of 
a  torrent,  and  had  a  magnificent  view  of  the  town  and 
its  encircling  mountains.  The  bridges  are  black  with 
age ;  on  triangular  boards  on  the  Kapellbriiche  are 
painted  one  hundred  and  fifty-four  scenes  from  the 
lives  of  the  patron  saints  of  the  town,  and  on  the 
Miihlenbriiche  the  celebrated  Dance  of  Death.  Every 
class  in  life  is  represented,  from  the  King  to  the  pau- 
per, and  by  each  stands  Death,  just  ready  to  seize  him. 

We  stopped  to  watch  the  swans  and  waterfowls, 
so  graceful  and  tame.  I  had  never  before  seen  per- 
fectly black  swans  with  bright  red  beaks. 

We  followed  the  crooked,  narrow  old  streets  and 
peeped  into  the  picturesque  houses  with  their  little 
dormer  windows  and  moss-covered  roofs.  Many 
were  built  in  the  sixteenth  and  seventeenth  centuries, 
and  time  has  painted  them  more  exquisitely  than 
could  any  master  hand.  On  the  mountain  sides  were 
beautiful  villas  and  pensions  commanding  fine  views 
of  the  lake  and  Alps.  Some  day  I  will  bring  Helen 
and  come  here  for  the  summer,  if  God  directs.  ' '  My 
times  are  in  His  hands." 

Aug.  4.. — A  last   look  at  the  wonderful    Rigi    and 
imposing    Pilatus,  both    looking  solemn  and    forbid- 


144  A    YOUNG   WOMAN   JOURNALIST. 

ding  in  the  mist  and  rain,  and  we  were  again  on  the 
upward  way. 

I  must  record  one  of  the  many  legends  connected 
with  Pilatus,  and  that  is  that  when  Pontius  Pilate  was 
banished  from  Galilee  he  fled  hither  and  in  the  bitter- 
ness of  his  remorse  drowned  himself  in  the  lake. 

Our  route  was  over  the  Briinig  to  Interlaken.  The 
scenery  is  grand  but  to  our  great  disappointment  it 
was  hidden  from  view  by  the  dense  clouds.  We  first 
took  a  wide  curve  in  the  broad  valley  of  the  Ailment. 
The  houses  were  unlike  others  we  have  seen,  being  of 
wood  and  covered  all  over  with  small  shingles  like  fish 
scales. 

At  Alpnach  we  saw  the  stout  little  engine  tugging 
and  puffing  up  Mount  Pilatus. 

Fine  views  opened  up  on  either  side ;  rushing 
rivers,  dashing  waterfalls,  fertile  valleys,  quaint  houses 
far  up  mountain  sides,  cattle  grazing  on  luxuriant 
pasturage,  noble  forests,  blue  lakes,  and  around  and 
about  and  above  all,  the  snow-clad  peaks.  Before 
crossing  the  Briinig  we  changed  to  the  cog  engine  and 
slowly  proceeded  to  climb  higher  and  higher  above  the 
picturesque  Lake  Lucenie,  on  and  on,  until  we  were 
three  thousand  feet  among  the  clouds. 

At  Meiringen  we  were  again  on  the  surface  of  the 
earth,  it  .seemed,  and  in  about  thirty-  minutes  we 
reached  Brienz,  where  we  took  the  boat.  It  was 
crovv'ded,  and  with  luggage,  and  dinner  being  served, 
was  not  very  comfortable.  The  Lake  of  Brienz  is 
eight  and  three-fourth  miles  long,  one  and  one  fourth 
wide,  and  two  thousand  feet  deep.  It  is  inclosed  by 
lofty  wooded  rocks  and  mountains.     We  had  intended 


A  YOUNG   WOMAN  JOURNAI^IST.  1 45 

spending  several  hours  at  Giessbach  to  visit  the  falls, 
but  owing  to  the  rain  contented  ourselves  with  the 
view  from  the  boat,  which  was  not  very  satisfying. 
There  are  seven  cascades  falling  from  rock  to  rock, 
and  framed  in  dark  green  foliage.  The  descent  is 
frightful. 

At  Botzen  we  again  took  the  cars,  and  in  about 
thirty  minutes  reached  Interlaken,  the  paradise  of 
summer  tourists.  It  is,  as  its  name  indicates,  ' '  be- 
tween the  lakes  ' '  of  Brienz  and  Thun.  Ever>'thing 
in  this  quiet  village  centers  about  and  faces  the  Jung- 
frau,  with  her  dazzling  shroud  of  eternal  snow.  The 
proportions  of  the  mountain  are  so  gigantic  that  the 
eye  in  vain  attempts  to  estimate  them,  and  distance 
seems  annihilated  by  their  vastness.  Thirteen  thou- 
sand six  hundred  and  seventy  feet  high  it  stands, 
such  a  grand  monument  that  any  which  man  has 
reared  seems  like  a  to}^  beside  it. 

After  iaMe  dlible  we  heard  music  in  the  drawing- 
room,  and  entering  found  three  TjTolese  peasants  in 
native  costume  entertaining  the  guests  with  songs 
which  rippled  forth  like  bird-notes.  They  were  as 
clear  and  sweet  as  this  mountain  air  and  the  w^omen  in 
their  picturesque  dresses  seemed  very  like  birds.  They 
also  performed  on  different  instruments  with  great 
skill. 

AiifS^.  5. — It  was  late  when  I  woke,  and,  hurriedly 
dressing,  hastened  down  to  pay  my  respects  to  her 
royal  highness,  the  Jungfrau.  But  she,  too,  was  in 
no  hurry  to  throw  off  her  downy  coverlid,  and  appar- 
ently did  not  greet  the  sun  so  enthusiastically  as  I. 
In  vain  I  watched  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  her  snowy 


146  A    YOUNG   WOMAN  JOURNALIST. 

head.  No  young  maiden  could  have  been  more  coy  ; 
not  until  afternoon  did  she  draw  aside  her  veil,  and 
then  what  wonders  we  beheld.  The  base  of  the 
mountain  covered  with  a  graceful  white  drapery — the 
center  with  fleecy  clouds  upon  which  the  top  rested 
like  a  celestial  queen  in  her  dazzling  robes.  It  is  thus 
Raphael  places  the  Saviour  in  His  divine  Transfigura- 
tion, and  many  of  his  Madonnas,  but  never  has  any- 
thing seemed  so  truly  the  Queen  of  Heaven  as  this 
virgin  that  lifts  her  head  amid  an  expanse  of  three 
hundred  square  miles  of  snow  and  glacier.  Byron 
says  of  her  • 

"And  this  most  steep,  fantastic  pinnacle, 
The  fretwork  of  some  earthquake,  where  the  clouds 
Pause  to  repose  themselves  in  passing  b}-." 

Aug.  6. — The  Jungfrau  did  not  smile  on  us  and 
we  went  away  without  her  benediction,  A  short  ride 
in  the  train  skirting  the  precipitous  slopes  high  above 
Lake  Thun,  past  beautifully  situated  towns  and  in 
sight  of  the  old-new  everlasting  hills,  and  we  take  the 
steamer.  Lake  Thun  is  eleven  miles  long  and  two 
miles  broad,  very  deep  and  clear  and  blue.  Its  edges 
are  lined  with  villages,  picturesque  chateaux  and 
lovely  villas.  The  Jungfrau,  Matterhorn,  Monch, 
Eiger,  Wetterhorn  formed  a  most  effective  back- 
ground. As  we  neared  the  village  of  Thun,  said  by 
Humboldt  to  be  the  most  beautifully  situated  in 
Switzerland,  the  snow  fields  of  the  Blumlisalp  came 
into  view  and  at  the  water's  edge  was  a  handsome 
modern  mansion.  From  Thun  by  rail  to  Bern,  we 
followed   the   river   Aare,   getting   fine  views   of  the 


A   YOUNG   WOMAN  JOURNALIST,  1 47 

Bernese  Oberland  as  we  entered  the  city  of  the  Alps. 
Two  stone  bears  perched  on  pillars  welcomed  us  to 
the  seat  of  the  Swiss  government. 

Bern  is  situated  on  a  peninsula.  We  took  an  hour's 
drive  and  saw  the  Cathedral  with  its  remarkable  portal 
containing  bas-reliefs  of  the  Last  Judgment,  Wise 
and  Foolish  Virgins,  and  Apostles.  From  the  terrace 
we  had  a  fine  view  of  the  old  city,  entire  valley  and 
Alps,  There  was  a  statue  to  the  founder  of  the  town, 
who  said  to  his  companions  while  hunting,  ' '  We  will 
found  a  town  where  falls  the  first  animal  we  kill,  and 
name  it  for  the  animal."  The  bas-reliefs  represent 
the  bear  lying  on  the  ground.  A  characteristic  feature 
of  Bern  is  its  fountains,  most  of  them  dating  from  the 
sixteenth  century  and  adorned  with  curious  statues. 
One  of  the  ogre  eating  children  is  hideous. 

At  1 :45  we  started  in  a  crowded  car  for  Lausanne. 
We  passed  through  a  green  valley,  a  profound  gorge, 
and  the  city  of  Freiburg,  which  contains  the  finest 
organ  in  Europe.  A  view  of  singular  beauty  was  dis- 
closed near  Lausanne,  embracing  the  greater  part  of 
Lake  Geneva  and  the  surrounding  mountains.  The 
valley  of  the  Rhone  and  the  Savoy  mountains  lay  to 
the  left,  and  in  the  foreground  were  numerous  villages 
amidst  vineyards. 

We  crossed  a  viaduct  ot  nine  arches  and  reached 
Lausanne  just  as  the  sun  was  setting.  It  gave  the 
exquisite  green  of  the  lake  a  golden  hue  which  was 
consummately  beautiful. 

A  change  of  cars  and  a  less  crowded  train.  A 
delightful  ride.  The  second  station,  Vevey,  is  one  of 
the   most   fashionable   and   charming   villages  on  the 


148  A   YOUNG   WOMAN   JOURNALIST. 

lake,  commanding  a  view  of  unsurpassed  beauty, 
much  written  of  by  Rousseau.  Next  came  "  Clarens  ! 
sweet  Clarens,  birthplace  of  deep  love,"  a  favorite 
summer  resort  of  Gambetta. 

Soon  the  noted  Castle  of  Chillon  loomed  in  sight 
with  its  massive  walls  and  towers.  It  stands  upon  an 
isolated  rock  sixty  feet  from  shore,  with  which  it  is 
connected  by  a  drawbridge.  It  is  now  a  prison. 
Byron  has  invested  this  spot  with  much  romance  and 
interest : 

"  Chillon  !  thy  prison  is  a  holy  place, 

And  thy  sad  floor  its  altar— for  'twas  trod, 
Until  his  very  steps  have  left  a  trace, 

Worn,  as  if  the  cold  pavement  were  a  sod, 
By  Bounivard  !  —may  none  these  marks  efface. 
For  they  appeal  from  tyranny  to  God." 

We  came  to  the  Rhone  and  were  glad  to  see  it  dash- 
ing, rushing  along.  Fine  wine  country.  Would  that 
the  product  of  the  vine  was  as  harmless  and  beautiful 
as  the  vines  look,  climbing  up  the  mountain  sides. 

At  St.  Maurice,  saw  the  most  ancient  abbey  this 
side  the  Alps,  founded  in  the  fourth  centtiry  by  St- 
Theodore,  and  way  up  on  an  apparently  inaccessible 
precipice  perches  a  hermitage.  On  the  right  was  a 
beautiful  cascade  two  hundred  and  thirty  feet  high, 
which,  white  as  snow,  tumbled  and  leaped  from  rock 
to  rock.  Had  an  imposing  view  of  Gorges  du  Trient. 
Near  Martigny  saw  a  fine  old  castle  erected  in  1260, 
and  a  beautiftil  sunset. 

Martigny  was  reached  at  7:00  p.  m.;  fine  outlook 
from  our  room  at  hotel.     Dinner  and  bed. 


A  YOUNG   WOMAN  JOURNALIST.  1 49 

Aug  7. — Mine  e3'es  have  seen  the  gloty  of  my  God! 
From  early  morning,  we  have  gone  from  glory  unto 
glory  until  to-night  I  feel  like  exclaiming,  "Lord, 
withhold  thy  grandeur  and  majesty,  my  weak  hu- 
manity can  endure  no  more."  It  is  as  if,  in  the 
earthly  body,  one  should  behold  the  heavenly  land. 
It  is  overpowering.  The  culmination  of  all  the 
mountains  of  Europe  is  Mont  Blanc.  All  the  others 
we  passed  led  up  to  it  as  the  first  and  lighter  strains 
of  a  symphony  swell  into  the  closing  burst  of  har- 
mony. I  shall  never  forget  the  thrill  which  passed 
through  me  when,  from  the  beautiful  valley,  I  beheld 
the  hoary  head  of  the  kingly  Alp  towering  above  all 
the  surrounding  peaks.  The  sun  was  setting  and 
the  mountain's  spotless  crown  sparkled  and  scintil- 
lated as  if  set  with  most  precious  jewels.  Every  hue 
of  the  rainbow  was  reflected  and  I  veiled  my  eyes 
and  wept  for  joy.  I  could  have  sung  aloud  a  song 
of  thanksgiving  to  the  Creator  who  formed  these 
mountains  and  valleys  and  holds  them  in  the  hollow 
of  His  hand.  Then  I  thought,  "What  is  man  that 
thou  art  mindful  of  him,  or  the  son  of  man,  that  thou 
visitest  him?"  In  answer,  there  rose  before  me  the 
figure  I  saw  upon  the  cross  at  Ober-Ammergau, 
and  I  knew  that,  after  all,  man  was  the  supreme 
thought  when  the  foundations  of  the  hills  were  laid 
and  the  basins  of  the  sea  formed.  While  thinking 
thus,  I  looked  down,  and  when  again  I  raised  my 
eyes  the  kindly  face  of  the  old  mountain  with  its  flow- 
ing white  beard  was  entirely  hidden  from  sight  by  a 
small  hill  under  which  we  were  passing.  Then  God 
taught  me  a  lesson.     How  often  we  allow  a  small  sin 


150  A   YOUNG   WOMAN  JOURNALIST. 

to  get  between  us  and  His  face  so  that  His  glory  is 
completely  hidden.  We  may  strive  to  get  away  from 
it,  far  enough  to  realize  what  joy  and  comfort  there 
is  in  communion  with  the  Father,  and  perhaps  some 
little  radiance  from  Him  may  be  reflected  by  us,  but 
before  we  realize  it  that  little  hill  of  selfishness,  or 
whatever  it  may  be,  has  eclipsed  the  Great  Light 
and  we  are  again  in  darkness. 

Another  thought  came  to  me  :  as  that  little  hill 
entirely  hid  the  great,  glorious  mountain,  so  often  we 
let  a  little  fault  in  a  grand  character  entirely  over- 
shadow all  the  noble  traits. 

And  another  :  we  look  at  the  hills  that  shut  in  our 
little  lives  and  interests,  and  care  nothing  for  the  great 
humanity  outside,  vSO  long  as  our  tiny  pasture  is  green 
and  our  sheep  are  all  sheltered. 

What  lessons  are  written  in  Nature's  great  book  if 
we  will  only  read  them  : 

"  Wondrous  truths  aud  mauifold  as  wondrous, 
God  has  written  in  the  heavens  and  on  the  earth." 

This  has  been  the  most  wonderful  day  of  my  life. 
How  can  I  find  words  to  express  all  I  have  seen  ! 
Surely,  I  am  finding  sermons  in  these  grand  motint- 
ains,  deep  gorges,  rushing  rivers.  In  comfortable 
carriages  we  .started  for  our  twenty- five-mile  ride.  The 
air  was  almost  intoxicating  and  I  felt  I  could  not 
draw  deep  enough  breaths,  and  my  heart  sang  a  .song 
of  thanksgiving  as  I  looked  unto  the  hills  "  from 
whence  cometh  my  help." 

Our  road  for  .some  time  was  the  .same  as  that  which 
leads  to  »St.  Bernard  and  we  met  man}-  priests  coming. 


A   YOUNG   WOMAN   JOURNALIST,  15I 

I  suppose,  from  that  monasten'.  The  great  dogs  in 
this  region  must  be  from  that  celebrated  stock.  Their 
faces  express  almost  human  intelligence,  and  I  can 
easily  imagine  them  saving  travelers  who  have  become 
hopelessly  entangled  tr^-ing  to  find  their  way  over 
these  trackless  mountains.  There  was  quite  a  proces- 
sion of  carriages  filled  with  gay  tourists,  and  just  as 
we  were  leaving  the  village  we  met  another  procession. 
What  mocker>'  it  must  have  seemed  to  those  poor 
peasants  carrying  to  his  last  resting-place  one  of  their 
loved  ones,  to  see  us  on  our  holiday.  I  fear  they  have 
few  such  in  their  quiet,  secluded  lives. 

As  we  ascended  higher  and  higher  by  zigzag  turns, 
we  had  a  noble  surv^ey  of  the  Rhone  valley.  At  our 
feet  lay  the  village  from  which  we  had  just  come,  and 
around  were  heights  undiscovered  to  us.  Soon  we  saw 
the  fine  Glacier  du  Trient,  the  northernmost  one  of  the 
Mont  Blanc  range.  Then  the  valley  widened  and  we 
stopped  at  the  village  of  Trient,  by  the  side  of  the 
brawling  river  of  the  same  name.  We  soon  knew 
these  glacier  streams  by  their  milky  appearance  caused 
by  the  earth  flowing  down  with  the  melted  ice.  The 
road  skirted  gorges  so  deep  I  could  not  see  the  bottom, 
while  on  the  other  hand  rose  cliffs  so  high  1  could  not 
see  the  top,  and  thus  suspended  between  heaven  and 
earth  we  rushed  on. 

We  dined  at  Hotel  de  la  Tete  Noire  and  rested  for 
tvvo  hours,  then  were  off  again.  The  new  road  led 
high  above  the  dark  and  sombre  valley  and  one  espe- 
cially narrow  place  was  cut  through  the  rock.  It  was 
overpoweringl}'  magnificent.  Often  the  mountain  side 
would  be  covered  with  huge  rocks  dashed  down  from 


152  A   YOUNG  WOMAN  JOURNALIST. 

above.  It  seemed  it  must  have  been  the  battle-field  of 
the  gods.  Surel}',  none  but  a  god  could  hurl  those 
massive  missiles.  The  river  bed  was  full  of  great 
bowlders  over  which  the  water  leaped  with  a  hiss  and 
a.  roar.  The  rocks  were  covered  with  moss  of  the 
most  exquisite  shades  of  green,  gold  and  red,  while 
over  all  stood  the  pines,  straight  as  arrows — heaven's 
own  soldiery.  In  the  midst  of  all  this  abandonment 
of  nature  man  had  intruded  ;  not  a  smooth  mountain 
side  or  valle3^  however  narrow,  but  he  had  cultivated, 
and  the  golden  wheat-field,  bright  with  poppies,  was 
the  finishing  touch  to  this  rare  picture. 

Among  the  most  exquisite  sights  in  this  land  of 
wonderful  scenery  are  the  habitations  of  the  sturdy 
mountaineers  as  seen  from  some  lofty  peak.  Their 
farms  are  as  carefully  kept  as  a  private  lawn,  and  the 
different  colored  grain-fields  look  like  rich  rugs  spread 
over  a  green  velvet  carpet. 

All  the  way  along  we  saw  the  reapers  at  work. 
Many  a  Maud  Miiller  looked  after  us  with  envious 
eyes ;  the  young  men  and  women  and  the  middle- 
aged  always  stop  their  work  to  watch  the  carriage 
pass  ;  often  we  exchange  a  smile  and  a  bow,  but  the 
old  women  look  not  up.  Oh,  the  pathos  of  their 
silent  drudger)^  !  Why  should  they  stop  to  dream  ? 
Life  holds  no  hope  for  them.  They  have  passed  its 
meridian  and,  with  the  lengthening  shadows,  ambition 
dies,  and  their  only  prayer  is  for  a  rest  at  sunset. 
Perhaps  their  darlings  have  gone  out  into  the  world 
from  whence  we  come,  anxious  for  a  larger  sphere 
than  these  encircling  mountains  afford,  and  are  lost 
to  them. 


A   YOUNG   WOMAN  JOURNALIST.  1 53 

I  longed  to  talk  to  these  weary,  patient  hearts, 
and,  if  possible,  give  a  word  of  coniiort.  It  seemed 
so  cruel  to  dash  by  !  I^ord,  they  will  never  know 
how  I  cared  for  them  I  loved  them,  even.  I  pray 
Thou  to  send  a  beam  of  sunshine  into  their  cold  lives. 
I  have  so  much — if  necessary,  take  it  from  mine. 
How  this  love  for  humanity  grows  within  me  I 

"  I  was  not  ever  thus, 
Lead  Thou  me  on." 

Shortly  after  leaving  the  hotel  wc  cros.sed  the 
Swiss  border  into  French  Savoy.  The  roads,  very 
fine  before,  became  more  excellent  and  the  stone 
bridges  real  works  of  art.  As  we  neared  Chamouni 
the  valley  became  broader,  we  heard  the  tinkling  of 
cow-bells  far  up  the  mountain  sides,  and  saw  the 
peasants  going  home  from  their  day's  work  in  the 
fields.  One  old  woman  in  a  white  cap,  leading  by  the 
hand  a  tiny  child,  attracted  the  attention  of  us  all. 
Down  the  mountain  our  road  wound  back  and  ibrth, 
just  like  the  white  ribbon  candy  at  Gunther's. 

We  were  eagerly  watching  for  a  first  glimpse  of 
Mont  Blanc,  and  just  at  sunset  we  came  in  sight  of 
the  grand  old  monarch  and  his  attendants.  For  the 
first  time  we  were  near  enough  to  the  huge  ice  cata- 
racts to  look  into  their  great  crystal  palaces  and  see 
the  streams  issuing  from  their  countless  crevices. 

We  reached  Hotel  des  Alps,  and  worn  out  with 
exaltation  of  spirit,  I  fell  asleep,  but  first  I  had  such 
a  view  of  his  majesty  as  made  mc  hold  my  breath. 
All  the  glory  of  the  sunset  was  gone,  and  instead  of 
jewels  of  many  colors,  his  entire  head  and  snowy  beard 


154  A    YOUNG    WOMAN   JOURNALIST. 

was  a  mass  of  diamonds,  white  and  clear,  and  reflect- 
ing what  seemed  must  be  the  radiance  from  the  ver>' 
throne  of  heaven, 

Augusts. — I  slept  like  an  angel  and  rose  feeling 
like  one.  On  my  way  to  breakfast  I  took  a  peep 
through  the  telescope  in  the  yard  at  a  party  ascend- 
ing Mont  Blanc.  Onr  host  said  they  must  have 
started  a  little  after  midnight.  They  were  toiling 
up,  all  tied  together  with  ropes.  Such  a  trip  means 
the  labor  and  hardships  of  two  years  concentrated 
into  two  days,   and  fifty  dollars. 

I  read  in  the  paper  of  a  plucky  American  girl  who 
started  with  ten  young  men  ;  when  less  than  half  way 
up,  the  "  strong  oaks  "  gave  out  and  went  back,  but 
the  "  clinging  vine  "  continued  to  climb,  and  returned 
the  next  day  none  the  worse  for  wear.  Tally  another 
for  the  weaker  sex  !  They  have  surely  entered  every 
place  in  the  wide,  round  world,  and  that  to  bless  and 
make  a  good  record. 

Inspired  by  all  these  feats,  I  rejected  the  services 
of  a  mule  and  guide,  and  pinning  my  dress  up  and 
grasping  firmly  my  alpenstock  started  up  the  Montan- 
vert  (green  mountain).  The  girls  all  followed,  and 
to  hear  them  scream  and  laugh  was  too  funny.  There 
is  only  a  narrow  bridle  path  cut  from  the  rock,  and  on 
the  outer  edge  an  awful  precipice.  The  view  as  we 
rose  higher  and  higher  was  very  fine  ;  far  below  lay 
the  valley,  as  green  as  an  emerald,  while  through  the 
center  ran  the  river,  milky  white,  and  by  its  side  the 
road  like  a  river  ;  behind  us,  was  Mont  Blanc,  and 
before,  the  vast  sea  of  ice  forming  the  Mer  de  Glace 
and  the  Glacier  des  Bois. 


A   YOUNG    WOMAN   JOURNALIST.  1 55 

About  noon  we  reached  the  top,  six  thousand  three 
hundred  and  three  feet,  and  after  dinner  slipped  and 
slid  down  the  perpendicular  mountain  side  to  the  ice. 
Steps  had  been  cut  from  one  frosty  pyramid  to  an- 
other, and  from  the  huge  caverns  great  rivers  flowed. 
It  was  very  cold,  and  half  way  down  I  was  obliged 
to  turn  back.  There,  in  the  center,  was  a  camera. 
The  photographer  is  as  omnipresent  now  as  the  re- 
porter. Up  the  height  we  scrambled,  and,  panting, 
reached  the  hotel.  Returning  on  mule-back  was 
much  more  dangerous  than  ascending,  and  I  con- 
cluded to  keep  my  own  feet  on  terra  Jirma,  though 
the  sturdy  little  animals  picked  their  way  with  almost 
human  intelligence.  Miss  U.  joined  me  at  the  half- 
way house,  and  together  we  walked  on,  reveling  in 
the  wonderful  view,  stopping  to  pick  flowers  and  rest- 
ing on  the  fresh  grass.  I  was  rather  lame  by  the  end 
of  my  ten  miles'  tramp,  but  was  on  hand  for  dinner. 
During  the  service,  suddenly  there  was  a  perfect  rush 
for  the  window.  I  thought  the  house  was  on  fire,  but 
joining  the  crowd,  and  looking  out,  saw  it  was  a  won- 
derful afterglow  on  Mont  Blanc.  I  can  not  describe 
it.  It  must  be  seen  to  be  appreciated,  and  once  seen 
can  never  be  forgotten.  How  blessed  we  have  been 
in  this  beautiful  spot !  What  a  royal  reception  this 
grand  old  monarch  has  given  us.  He  is  far  more 
grand  than  I  had  anticipated,  even,  and  that  is  saying 
much. 

A  good  night's  rest  came  after  my  happy,  happy 
day.  I  could  stay  here  for  weeks  and  feel  my  soul 
grow.     It  is  the  cities  that  make  me  homesick. 


156  A   YOUNG    WOMAN   JOURNALIST. 

Azi^.  p. — A  coach  and  four,  filled  with  delightful 
people;  roads  like  marble  floors,  air  that  filled  one 
with  delight,  and  scenery  like  Paradise,  left  nothing 
to  be  desired,  as  we  started  for  Geneva.  At  every 
turn  new  vistas  of  beauty  opened  before  us.  How 
regretfully  I  left  my  dear  Chamouni  I  can  not  tell, 
but  I  shall  come  again. 

A  four  hours'  ride  brought  us  to  the  railroad,  and 
by  two  o'clock  we  were  in  Geneva,  where  we  received 
letters.  I  had  such  a  lovely  one  from  dear  Mrs.  An- 
drew and  one  from  my  beloved  Miss  Willard,  such  a 
sweet  and  tender  letter  as  made  me  feel  very  humble 
and  long  to  be  better  and  do  better. 

We  took  a  very  long  walk  all  about  the  city,  which 
is  charmingly  situated  on  Lake  Geneva.  Here  the 
Rhone  emerges,  dividing  the  city  into  two  parts  which 
are  connected  by  eight  bridges.  In  the  niid.st  of  the 
stream  is  the  little  Rousseau  Island  with  its  statue  and 
fine  promenades. 

Just  across  from  our  Hotel  Richmond  was  the  mon- 
ument to  the  Duke  of  Brunswick,  who  left  all  his  fort- 
une, $4,000,000,  to  the  city  on  condition  that  it  erect 
an  elegant  statue  to  his  memory.  To  think  of  one's 
caring  to  perpetuate  his  name  in  such  a  way  !  If  my 
life  is  not  noble  enough  to  make  my  memory  lasting 
and  sweet,  let  it  perish.  I  want  ray  monument  to  be 
the  lives  I  have  blessed  and  brightened  and  made 
better. 

An^.  10. — A  lovely,  quiet  Sabbath.  We  went  to 
church  in  the  little  English  chapel  and  heard  a  most 
excellent  sermon  on  doing  well  the  little  things  ;  there 


A   YOUNG    WOMAN  JOURNALIST.  1 57 

are  no  small  deeds  with  God  ;  it  is  the  faithful  servant 
who  is  rewarded. 

We  walked  home  together  and  had  a  pleasant  talk. 
This  is  the  city  of  Calvin,  but  his  influence  was  not 
very  manifest  to-day.  Everything  seemed  as  gay  as 
Paris,  yet  in  the  rule  of  the  reformer  no  theaters  or 
places  of  amusement  were  allowed.  Calvin  was  as 
autocratic  when  in  power  as  the  pope  and  bishops 
had  been.  Voltaire  also  made  this  his  home  and 
under  his  lead  the  people  seemed  to  forget  God. 
From  Calvin  to  Voltaire,— a  chasm  as  wide  as  be- 
tween heaven  and  hell. 

From  our  balcony  this  eve  we  had  another  wonder- 
ful view  of  Mont  Blanc  with  the  afterglow.  What  a 
lesson  it  teaches  us,  to  keep  our  heads  so  high  in  the 
heavens  that  when  all  around  and  below  us  is  dark, 
our  faces  will  still  reflect  the  radiance  from  the  great 
sun  which  never  sets. 

I  had  a  very  strange  experience  at  table  d'hote.  A 
very  nice  Englishman  was  talking  to  a  lady  across  the 
table  about  places  they  had  both  visited.  She  chanced 
to  ask  him  if  he  had  been  to  Ober-Ammergau.  In- 
stantly he  was  on  fire.  "  No,  nor  would  I  go  and  see 
my  blessed  Lord  crucified  anew,"  he  replied.  I  re- 
marked, "  You  would  not  feel  so,  if  you  had  seen  the 
play,"  whereupon  he  put  me  through  a  catechism  that 
would  have  made  Calvin  ashamed,  and  roundly  scored 
all  of  us  who  upheld  the  performance.  All  the  while 
he  was  drinking  wine  and  by  his  example  upholding 
the  custom  which  more  than  anything  else  hinders 
the  coming  of  Christ's  kingdom,  for  which  he  so 
earnestly  prays.     What  charity  we  need! 


"<E1)e  Storp  tW   ^ransformco  t1)c 

OR  centuries  the  royal  galleries  of 
Europe  have  been  the  Mecca  of  the 
artist-world.  Painters  have  bowed 
in  ardent  worship  before  the  shrine 
of  the  matchless  Raphael.  Sculptors 
and  builders  have  spent  their  lives  trying  to 
catch  the  ' '  something ' '  that  inspired  the  won- 
der-working chisel  of  Michael  Angelo.  But 
what  are  priceless  galleries  but  exquisitely  illustrated 
editions  of  the  life  and  passion  of  Jesus  Christ  of 
Galilee?  What  the  celebrated  statues  and  cathedrals, 
but  the  same  old,  old  story,  carved  in  marble  and 
built  in  stone,  while  in  snow-capped  mountain  and 
vine-clad  valley,  we  have  only  the  book  of  Nature 
that  proclaims  God's  boundless  love  which  crystallized 
on  the  cross. 

It  was  left  for  the  peasants  of  a  mountain-girt 
hamlet  among  the  Bavarian  Alps  to  portray  by  speech 
and  action  to  the  Christian  world  this  greatest  of  all 
events  in  the  history  of  humanity. 

All  through  the  summer  of  1S90,  the  tide  of  Euro- 
pean travel  poured  into  that  Tyrolese  village,  lingered 


Writteu  after  Miss  Ames'  return  from  Europe. 
158 


A    YOUNG   WOMAN  JOURNALIST.  159 

to  listen  to  the  story  that  transformed  the  world,  and 
then,  awed  and  inspired,  ebbed  away  like  clouds  that 
melt  from  mountain  tops. 

The  question  that  greeted  us  most  often  in  hotel 
and  railway  carriage,  from  the  day  of  our  landing  at 
Queenstown,  was,  "Have  you  been  to  Ober-Ammer- 
gau  ? ' '  and  the  Passion  Play  was  the  universal  topic 
of  conversation.  This  excursion  was  not  in  the  itin- 
ersLTy  of  our  party,  but  by  the  time  we  reached  Vienna 
and  listened  to  a  description  of  the  wonderful  perform- 
ance by  a  Grecian  count  and  countess,  given  with 
glistening  eyes  and  the  fervor  that  characterizes  the 
dwellers  in  southern  lands,  our  hearts  burned  within 
us  and  we  said,  "Surely,  this  is  the  opportunity  of  a 
lifetime,  and  we  must  not  miss  it." 

Two  days  later,  we  were  in  Munich,  and  by  eleven 
o'clock  on  Saturday,  July  12,  had  started  on  our  sacred 
pilgrimage.  I  felt  much  as  I  fancy  the  early  Chris- 
tians did,  when  on  their  way  to  the  Holy  Sepulchre. 
At  two  o'clock  we  were  at  Ammergau,  where  we  found 
omnibuses  in  waiting  to  take  us  across  the  six  miles 
of  mountains.  It  was  a  charming  ride.  Up,  up,  ever 
upward,  into  the  heights,  and  very  appropriate  it 
seemed  that  we  should  be  ascending,  nearer  and  nearer 
heaven,  as  we  approached  the  scene  that  brought 
down  heaven  to  earth.  Formerly,  the  road  was  rough 
and  perilous,  but  the  government  has  spent  half  a 
million  dollars  constructing  a  broad  stone  highway, 
that  winds  in  long  spirals  up  the  mountain  side. 
Every  step  of  the  way  is  rich  in  legendary  lore  stored 
among  the  peasant  population,  and  we  longed  to  pause 
at  Ettal  and  join  the  hundreds  of  foot-passengers  in 


l6o  A   YOUNG   WOMAN  JOURNALIST, 

their  worship.  This  celebrated  village  is  composed 
of  half  a  dozen  houses  clustered  around  a  great 
church,  and  what  was,  until  1779,  when  it  was  de- 
stroyed by  fire,  a  fine  monastery,  with  a  librarj'  of 
one  hundred  thousand  volumes.  It  has  since  been 
converted  into  a  brewery  and  you  can  imagine  my 
horror  at  seeing  over  the  door,  ' '  God  bless  the  beer 
of  Ettal."  The  son  of  the  count  who  staited  this 
brewery  to  mend  his  shattered  fortunes,  has  recently 
married  an  American  heiress.  Let  us  hope  her  repub- 
lican gold  may  not  only  gild  his  tarnished  coronet, 
but  also  save  this  sacred  spot  from  further  desecration. 

Many  stopped  to  rest  in  the  church,  and  worship 
the  miracle-working,  ivory  Mother  and  Child.  The 
story  goes  that  the  image  is  invisible  to  the  ver>'  rep- 
robate, is  as  heavy  as  lead  to  impenitent  sinners,  but 
as  light  as  a  feather  to  all  who  are  of  a  contrite  heart. 
Just  beyond  Ettal,  under  the  shadow  of  a  great  peak, 
lies  the  charming  chalet  of  the  Marquis  of  Bute,  who 
has  done  much  to  inspire  and  foster  the  play. 

Two  or  three  miles  farther  on,  we  sped  past  the 
numberless  little  shrines  with  which  the  roadside  is 
studded,  and  entered  Ober-Ammergau.  Viewed  from 
above,  it  forms  an  ideal  picture  of  an  ideal  village,  as 
primitive  as  it  was  when  the  outside  world  first  found 
— some  forty  years  ago— this  wonderful  drama  being 
enacted  among  the  mountains.  The  little  low  stone 
houses,  with  their  white  walls  and  green  window 
shutters,  are  irregularly  grouped  around  the  church, 
the  heart  of  the  village,  and  in  earlier  years  the  play 
was  performed  in  its  grass-grown  yard.  One  mount- 
ain, the  Kofcl,  black  with  pines,  looms  far  above  all 


A   YOUNG   WOMAN    JOURNALIST.  l6l 

the  surrounding  peaks  and  guards  the  entrance  to  the 
valley.  On  its  summit  gleams  the  white  cross  which 
is  the  presiding  genius  of  the  place.  It  is  the  most 
sacred  possession  of  these  mountaineers,  and  with  its 
story,  —  the  story  of  the  cross, — has  been  the  form- 
ative influence  of  all  the  simple  souls  who  at  its  base 
have  lived  out  their  quiet  lives. 

I  was  told  that  an  enterprising  New  York  theater 
manager  offered  the  authorities  an  immense  sum  of 
money  if  they  would  come  to  our  metropolis  and 
enact  the  play.  He  promised  that  its  settings  should 
be  of  unequaled  splendor,  and  assured  them  they 
might  have  twenty-five  apostles,  at  least,  if  they  so 
desired.  But  the  villagers  were  unmoved  by  even 
this  astonishing  inducement  and  replied,  "  If  you  will 
take  our  dear  Kofel  and  its  sacred  cross  to  New  York, 
we  will  go,  for  without  its  benediction,  we  would 
not  dare  play." 

Very  curious  were  our  feelings  upon  entering  the 
hotel,  to  be  conducted  to  our  rooms  by  the  ' '  Apostle 
John."  Often  in  our  walks  we  encountered  kings, 
priests  and  apostles,  their  royal  robes  laid  aside, 
going  about  their  ordinary  duties,  with  nothing  to 
distinguish  them  from  the  common  peasant  except 
that  they  had  an  unlooked-for  dignity  and  grace  in 
feature  and  carriage.  After  a  most  frugal  supper,  a 
friend  and  myself  sallied  forth  to  visit  the  wood-carv- 
ing shops.  Not  knowing  the  way,  we  asked  the  little 
daughter  of  our  landlord  to  direct  us.  As  we  walked 
along,  wishing  to  know  her  name,  I  said,  "  Who  are 
you,  dear?"  She  replied  most  naturally,  "I  am  an 
angel."     Nothing  could  better  illustrate  the  spirit  of 


l62  A   YOUNG    WOMAN   JOURNALIST. 

this  people.  To  proclaim  the  story  of  the  cross  is 
their  highest  ambition.  Their  personality  is  entirely 
merged  in  that  of  the  characters  they  represent. 
They  are  sweet  and  perfectly  untainted  from  the  vul- 
garism of  the  outside  world,  and  inspired  with  a 
high-mindedness  that  is  delicious.  This  is  the  result 
of  eight  generations  of  the  Christ-life  and  thought, 
and  proves  Oliver  Wendell  Holmes'  saying,  "  If  you 
would  train  a  child,  you  must  begin  with  his  great- 
grandfather. ' ' 

We  strolled  along,  crossing  and  recrossing  the 
rapid  and  crj'stal  Amraer,  that  flows  between  and  past 
the  houses,  and  stopped  to  study  the  curious  frescoes 
that  adorn  the  dwellings  of  rich  and  poor  alike.  On 
the  burgomaster's  somewhat  stately  residence  are 
wreaths  of  flowers,  painted  pillars  and  a  frieze,  but 
the  favorite  designs  are  the  birth  and  crucifixion  of 
our  Lord. 

The  streets  were  crowded  with  representatives  of 
half  the  nations  of  the  earth,  and  peasants  by  the 
hundreds,  in  their  picturesque  costumes.  Several 
times,  as  I  looked  into  the  face  of  some  rustic  maid,  I 
thought  of  Wordsworth's  lines, 

"  The  beauty  born  of  murmuring  sound 
Had  passed  into  her  face." 

Two  centuries  of  study  and  practice  of  the  gospels 
has  transformed  these  mountaineers,  physically  and 
morally,  and  elevated  them  far  above  their  class. 
Crime  is  almost  unknown  among  them,  and  they 
truly  typify  by  their  lives  that  which  they  picture  on 
the  stage. 


A  YOUNG   WOMAN  JOURNALIST.  1 63 

There  has  never  been  a  question  of  any  mercenary 
motive  in  their  presentation.  The  actors  receive  no 
remuneration  save  the  equivalent  of  their  day's  earn- 
ings at  other  labor.  For  the  Sunday  representation 
they  are  not  paid  at  all.  Joseph  Maier  was  given 
only  two  hundred  dollars  for  his  twenty-five  perform- 
ances last  summer. 

What  becomes  of  the  receipts?  is  asked.  They 
are  divided  into  four  parts  :  One  part  goes  to  sustain 
the  school  of  sculpture  which  has  made  the  peasants 
of  this  region  artists  in  wood-carving  ;  one-fourth  is 
devoted  to  improvements  in  the  village,  another  to 
paying  the  expenses  of  the  play,  and  a  fourth  is 
divided  among  the  seven  hundred  actors. 

There  are  records  of  the  Miracle  Play  having  been 
performed  in  Ober-Ammergau  as  early  as  the  twelfth 
century,  but  towards  the  close  of  the  sixteenth,  when 
the  Thirty  Years'  War  raged  throughout  Germany, 
the  Mystery  was  abandoned,  for  the  mountains  be- 
came too  disturbed  to  permit  its  continuance.  As  one 
of  the  after-consequences  of  that  wide-wasting  war,  a 
great  pestilence  broke  out  in  the  villages  surrounding 
Ober-Ammergau.  Entire  communities  were  swept 
away,  but  Ober-Ammergau,  by  means  of  a  strict  quar- 
antine, escaped,  until  a  certain  Caspar  Schnchler 
evaded  the  guards  and  slipped  into  the  village  to  see 
his  wife  and  child.  In  two  da^^s  he  was  dead,  and  in 
thirty-three  days  eighty-four  of  the  villagers  had  per- 
ished. In  their  despair  they  called  upon  heaven,  and 
vowed,  if  the  plague  was  stayed,  they  would  forever 
keep  fresh  in  the  minds  of  men  the  Lord's  Passion. 
"From   that   hour,"  says  the  local  chronicler,  ='the 


164  A   YOUNG   WOMAN  JOURNALIST. 

sick  were  healed  and  the  pestilence  removed  ;  and 
once  in  every  decade  since  then  the  peasants  have  en- 
acted the  drama  with  solemn  reverence  and  devotion." 
Living  thus  alwaj^s  in  the  white  light  of  Christ's  life, 
they  have  taken  on  an  outward  manifestation  of  spirit- 
uality very  rare  and  beautiful.  Hence  William  Stead 
has  appropriately  termed  this  play,  "  A  dramatic  rain- 
bow set  in  the  hills. ' ' 

To  a  young  priest,  Daisenberger,  we  are  indebted 
for  the  present  form  of  the  play.  For  thirty-five  years 
he  lived  and  labored  in  the  village,  directing  the 
mental,  moral  and  .spiritual  development  of  his  pari.sh- 
ioners.  A  beautiful  statue  has  been  erected  to  his 
memory.  The  good  priest  has  left  on  record  that  he 
undertook  the  production  of  the  play  "  for  the  love  of 
my  Divine  Redeemer,  and  with  only  one  object  in 
view,  the  edification  of  the  Christian  world." 

At  five  o'clock  on  Sunday  morning  we  were  awak- 
ened by  the  music  of  the  band  parading  the  streets,  and 
the  ringing  of  church  bells,  calling  all  to  early  mass. 
The  church  was  crowded  with  worshipers,  all  the 
actors  being  present  to  receive  the  sacrament.  By 
half-past  eight  we  were  in  our  seats  in  the  great 
wooden  pavilion,  scarcely  dignified  enough  to  be 
called  a  theater.  The  stage  is  in  exact  imitation  of 
the  Greek,  with  the  seats  nearest  it  uncovered.  It 
has  a  background  of  blue  sky  and  fir-crowned  hills. 
On  an  eminence  to  the  left,  in  full  view,  is  the  great 
marble  crucifix  with  its  group  of  women,  presented  to 
Ober-Ammergau  by  King  Ludwig.  How  often  during 
the  eight  hours  that  I  watched  that  .supreme  .struggle 
between  the  human  and  the  divine,  did  I  lift  up  mine 


A   YOUNG    WOMAN  JOURNALIST.  1 65 

eyes  unto  those  peaceful  pine-clad  slopes  and  find  there 
refreshment  from  the  intensity  of  the  drama  ! 

The  birds  flying  in  and  out  of  the  rafters  over 
our  heads,  often  joined  in  the  chorus  with  a  burst  of 
melody.  Six  thousand  people  were  assembled  ;  the 
Princess  Beatrice  and  her  husband  occupied  the  royal 
box  ;  bishops  and  archbishops,  priests  and  peasants, 
high  and  low,  all  sat  silent  and  expectant,  and  followed 
the  story  with  eager  interest.  The  unseen  orchestra 
pla3^ed  a  grand  chant  and  there  filed  in  from  either 
side  the  stage  the  chorus  of  forty  men  and  women, 
dressed  in  white  under-tunics  with  gold  trimmings, 
over  which  were  draped  bright-colored  cloaks,  held  in 
place  by  gold  cords  and  tassels.     Each  wore  a  crown. 

To  explain  the  tableaux  with  which  the  scenes  are 
opened  is  the  object  of  the  chorus.  Instead  of  simply 
giving  the  Gospel  story  as  it  is  in  the  New  Testa- 
ment, the  types,  figures  and  prophecies  of  the  Old 
Testament,  which  prefigure  the  New,  are  introduced. 
The  first  tableau  is  emblematic  of  the  fall  ;  the  second 
represents  the  adoration  of  the  cross. 

' '  Hosanna  to  our  Prince, ' '  echoes  and  re-echoes 
through  the  air,  and  a  multitude  pours  upon  the  stage 
from  all  directions,  bearing  palm  branches  and  wor- 
shiping Jesus,  who  appears  in  the  midst  of  the  throng 
riding  upon  an  ass.  John,  the  beloved  disciple,  with 
his  spiritual  face  framed  in  long,  waving  locks,  walks 
by  his  side.  Every  eye  is  fixed  upon  Joseph  Maier, 
for  in  every  heart  there  has  been  a  half-question 
whether  it  were  not  sacrilegious  for  any  human  being 
to  personate  the  Saviour  of  men  ;  but  the  most  rever- 
ent could  not  object  to  the  hoh'  dignity-  and  majesty 


1 66  A    YOUNG   WOMAN    JOURNALIST. 

of  Maier,  who  for  fortj-  years  has  studied  and  person- 
ified Christ  until  the  divine  spirit  seems  to  possess  him, 
lifting  him  out  of  his  own  personality  into  that  of  his 
Great  Master. 

In  the  temple,  when  he  overthrows  the  tables  of 
the  money-changers  and  drives  out  the  merchants, 
there  is  no  hint  of  ranting,  only  righteous  indignation 
being  manifest.  This  is  thought  by  many  to  be  the 
finest  acting  in  the  plaj'. 

After  Christ  has  passed  out  with  His  disciples,  the 
traders  endeavor  to  stir  up  the  people  against  Him. 
Then  comes  the  typical  tableau  of  Joseph's  brothers 
plotting  for  his  death,  and  the  act  gives  the  stormy 
session  of  the  Sanhedrim,  over  which  the  Burgo- 
master Lang  presides  as  high-priest,  in  a  royal  robe, 
which  I  was  told  cost  three  thousand  dollars. 

It  is  said  to  have  been  Lang's  highest  ambition  to 
see  his  beautiful  daughter  enact  the  part  of  the  Virgin 
Mother,  and  to  this  she  has  been  trained  from  child- 
hood. Three  years  ago  she  was  betrothed  to  a  worthy 
youth,  but  her  father  would  not  allow  the  marriage  to 
take  place  until  after  the  play,  there  being  an  un- 
written law  that  no  matron  should  enact  that  pait. 
For  the  full  description.  I  can  do  no  better  than  to 
refer  you  to  the  article  by  Miss  Elizabeth  Bisland,  in 
The  Cosmopolitan,  for  she  has  portrayed  the  scenes 
much  better  than  I  can. 

The  wonderful  scene  of  Christ  before  Pilate 
seemed  to  me  peculiarly  impressive.  Pilate  upon  his 
judgment  throne  looks  with  a  troubled,  questioning 
expression  upon  Christ,  standing  in  the  calmness  and 
majesty  of  His  divine  power,    and  in  reply   to  that 


A  YOUNG   WOMAN  JOURNALIST.  167 

grand  defense,  ' '  To  this  end  was  I  born  and  for  this 
cause  came  I  into  the  world,  that  I  might  bear  wit- 
ness of  the  truth,"  he  asks  the  question  that  has 
echoed  through  the  ages,  "What  is  truth?"  In 
Edwin  Arnold's  "Light  of  the  World,"  the  Roman 
ruler  speaks  thus  to  his  wife  : 

"  The  pale,  sweet  man;  the  man  that  was  '  the  King,'' 
****** 
Always  with  that  high  look  of  god-like  calm, 
Those  eyes  of  far  perception— those  mild  eyes 
I  saw  that  morti  tn  the  Prcetorium. 

*  *  *  *  *  * 

As  I  questioned  him  upon  these  things, 
And  asked  :  '  Art  thou  indeed  King  of  the  Jews  ? ' 
Lo  !  he,  with  such  a  mien  as  one  should  have, 
Wearing  the  purple,  spake  full  royally, 
'  Aye  !  as  thou  sayest,  a  King  ! '  and  no  word  more  ! 
Still  I  went  on     '  Speakest  thou  naught  to  me 
Whose  nod  can  send  thee  hence  to  live  or  die  ? 
Art  thou  King  of  the  Jews  ?  '    And  the  man  said, 
'  Yea  !  King  !  yet  not  of  any  earthly  realm  : 
To  this  end  was  I  born,  and  therefore  came. 
King  of  all  kings,  because  I  witness  Truth.' 
Then  asked  I  :  '  What  is  Truth  ?  '     He  answered  naught. 

*  *  *  *  *  * 

And  Claudia  moaned  :  '  I,  too,  remember  well ! 
I  saw  him  from  my  lattice,  and  his  eyes 
Burned  themselves  on  my  heart.      Truly  a  King 
Of  Truth— if  anywhere  such  kingdom  be:  " 

Solemnly  the  audience  melts  away,  the  most  flip- 
pant and  thoughtless  are  awed,  and  for  myself  I  can 
truthfully  say  that  for  days  I  seemed  in  a  holy  dream. 

I  wondered  if  any  disbeliever  in  the  divinity  of 
Christ  left  that  tragic  place  still  unconvinced  that  He 


1 68 


A    YOUNG   WOMAN   JOURNALIST. 


who  lived,  and  worked,  and  suffered,  and  died  on  earth, 
was  the  Son  of  God.  For,  after  all,  the  greatest  of 
miracles  is  that  this  story  should  have  transformed 
the  world. 

A  few  weeks  later  I  visited  Rome,  and  standing  in 
the  arena  of  the  Coliseum  which  has  again  and  again 
been  soaked  with  the  blood  of  thousands  of  martyrs 
who  suffered  even  as  Christ  suffered,  but  whose  mar- 
tyrdom did  not  save  their  names  from  the  most  com- 
plete oblivion,  I  asked,  "  Why,  then,  did  the  death  of 
this  one  man  transform  the  world?"  All  nature,  and 
a  million  hearts  rejoicing  in  the  risen  Saviour,  an- 
swered, "  Because  He  ivas  the  Son  of  God,  and  for  this 
reason  came  He  into  the  world.'' 


ERE  the  wise  man  who  said, 
' '  Eet  me  write  the  songs  of  a  na- 
tion and  I  care  not  who  makes  the 
laws,"  living  in  this  nineteenth  cent- 
ury he  would  rather  exclaim,  ' '  Let  me 
control  the  press  of  a  nation  and  I  will 
make  the  laws!"  so  much  mightier  than  any  other 
influence  is  that  of  the  strong,  exultant,  relentless 
press  that  rules  human  thought  to-day. 

The  newspapers  have  become  the  very  nerve-cen- 
ters of  our  civilization,  while  the  telegraph  and  cable 
are  the  nerves,  extending  in  every  direction  and  form- 
ing a  complete  network  about  old  Mother  Earth. 
How  to  secure  and  use  this  great  force  in  our  battle 
for  "God  and  Home  and  Every  Land  "  is  a  most 
important  problem.  I  am  convinced  that  we  shall 
never  come  into  our  kingdom  until  we  have  laid  un- 
der tribute  the  great  teeming  presses  of  the  world,  so 
that  with  every  throb  they  will  send  out  leaves  which 
shall  truly  be  "for  the  healing  of  the  nations." 

Notwithstanding  all  her  grand  achievements  in 
literature,  science,  art  and  government,  the  talis- 
manic    word     "Reform"    has    ever    been    woman's 


*Read  before  the  British  Women's  Temperance  Association. 
169 


lyo  A    YOUNG    WOMAN   JOURNALIST. 

reveille,  calling  into  action  evety  force  of  her  being. 
From  the  beginning,  the  temperance  crusade  has 
had  the  power  of  the  Christ-love  in  it ;  born  in  the 
shadowy  silence  of  the  closet,  itself  a  child  of  conse- 
cration and  prayer  ;  going  forth  to  encounter  opposi- 
tion and  hatred  on  the  threshold  of  saloons  and  in  the 
slums  of  great  cities,  it  met  with  emissaries  of  a  ruler 
more  cruel  than  Herod,  and  eager  enough  to  slay  it 
at  its  birth.  It  has  always  been  about  its  Father's 
business ;  it  has  had  its  days  in  the  wilderness  of 
temptation,  and  its  hours  on  the  glory-capped  mount 
of  transfiguration  ;  it  has  walked  many  a  troubled  sea 
of  opposition,  and  had  its  baptism  of  fire.  It  has 
literally  gone  about  doing  good  in  a  thousand  ways. 
It  has  been  a  blessing  to  little  children,  and  is  making 
for  them  straight  paths  through  scientific  knowledge 
and  protecting  laws.  For  the  forsaken  it  has  builded 
a  house  of  refuge,  and  kindled  new  hope.  It  has 
tried  to  heal  the  sick  in  body  and  soul,  seeking  every- 
where to  drive  out  the  demons  of  drink,  rebuking 
rulers,  standing  ready  to  scourge  those  who  for  money 
would  defile  the  one  holy  temple  of  the  living  God — 
the  human  body. 

Year  by  year  it  has  entered  new  paths  as  its  work 
has  broadened  and  deepened,  until  now  the  National 
society  in  the  United  States  has  forty-six  distinct  de- 
partments, each  with  a  .specialist  at  its  head. 

The  Press  department  was  the  outcome  of  this  evo- 
lution, and  for  several  years  was  carried  on  by  our 
talented  Mrs.  Esther  T.  Housh,  of  Vermont. 

About  1883  we  began  to  realize,  as  never  before, 
that  while  our  temperance  lecturers  were  addressing 


A   YOUNG   WOMAN   JOURNALIST.  1 71 

possibly  one  hundred  thousand  people  a  day,  over  fif- 
teen thousand  papers  were  speaking  to  at  least  fifty 
millions  ;  and  straightway  we  knocked  at  the  doors  of 
the  editorial  sanctums.  They  opened  very  slowly  at 
first,  I  admit,  but  enough  for  us  to  enter,  and  there  we 
shall  remain  until  the  public  is  enlightened  and  edu- 
cated to  know  not  that  "  intemperance  is  a  great 
evil''  but  that  alcohol  is  poison,  and  the  liquor  traffic 
a  crime.  When  once  we  get  that  truth  into  the  heads 
and  hearts  of  the  people  we  shall  hear  no  more  of 
restriction  or  compensation,  for  the  cry  will  be, 
* '  Extermijiation  !  ' ' 

I  shall  never  forget  the  time  when  first  I  called 
upon  the  editors  of  our  large  Chicago  daily  papers,  to 
ask  space  in  their  columns  to  report  the  work  of  the 
Woman's  Christian  Temperance  Union.  My  friends 
were  sure  the  doors  would  be  shut  in  my  face,  but  I 
had  heard  the  "Woe  is  me  if  I  do  not  this  thing,"  and 
I  knew  the  Lord  would  go  before  me  to  prepare  the 
way,  and  He  did.  Only  one  editor  refused  my  re- 
quest. He  said,  ' '  Temperance  is  stale;  there  is  abso- 
lutely nothing  new  to  be  said  on  the  subject ;  it  is  a 
dead  issue."  He  has  changed  his  mind  within  a  few 
years  and  no  doubt  was  as  surprised  to  find  how  alive 
this  issue  is,  as  were  those  who  said,  "  There  are  only 
a  handful  of  temperance  fanatics  in  Great  Britain," 
to  see  the  Hyde  Park  demonstration. 

We  are  no  longer  suppliants.  The  question  of 
this  department,  now,  is  how  to  keep  posse.ssion  of 
the  goodly  land  upon  which  we  have  entered,  and  so 
cultivate  it  that  it  may  bring  forth  an  abundant 
harvest. 


172  A    YOUNG    WOMAN   JOURNALIST. 

I  do  not  mean  that  all  our  papers  have  been  con- 
verted to  Prohibition — far  from  it,  I  am  sorry  to  say, 
for  they  do  not  always  even  tell  the  truth  about  it  ; 
but  the  general  press  has  experienced  a  change  of 
heart  on  the  temperance  question,  and  is  willing  to 
give  both  sides  a  hearing.  If  we  can  only  let  the 
white  light  of  truth  shine  strongly  enough  upon  the 
liquor  traffic  to  disclose  all  its  hideousness,  it  is 
doomed.  The  publicans  realize  this,  and  tremble 
before  our  oncoming  hosts,  as  is  shown  by  their  in- 
terpretation of  the  letters  W.  C.  T.  U. — "We'll  see 
to  you."  May  this  blessed  state  of  agitation  continue, 
for  its  end  will  surely  be  reformation. 

It  is  the  especial  aim  of  this  department  to  provide 
the  general  public  with  temperance  reading  matter, 
through  the  religious  and  secular  press.  This  is  done 
by  means  of  dispatches  sent  out  by  the  Associated 
Press,  a  bulletin  prepared  by  our  national  superin- 
tendent, and  furnished  all  important  papers,  and 
through  our  local  superintendents.  This  National 
bulletin  is  made  up  of  short  items  of  new.<;  gathered 
from  the  nearly  two  hundred  letters  from  all  over  the 
world,  which  are  received  daily  at  Miss  Willard's 
home  and  at  the  Chicago  headquarters. 

To  me,  the  most  interesting  officers  on  board  the 
steamer  which  brought  us  to  your  beautiful  land, 
were  those  who  day  and  night  walked  the  bridge, 
glass  in  hand,  and  with  their  trained  eyes  swept  the 
great  ocean  to  note  every  change,  and  warn  of  any 
danger.  Thus  it  is  intended  that  our  national  press 
superintendent  shall  stand  on  the  temperance  watch- 
tower  and  report  every  movement  of  the  great  ship, 


A   YOUNG   WOMAN   JOURNALIST.  1 73 

Prohibition,  which  is  so  grandly  making  the  desired 
haven. 

Win.  T.  Stead  has  truly  said,  "  We  dwell  in  the 
midst  of  a  chaos  of  philanthropies."  What  we  need 
is  a  center  where  the  experience  of  all  shall  be  stored 
so  as  to  be  accessible  for  the  guidance  of  each.  Thus 
our  Press  department  is  a  sort  of  intelligence  office  for 
all  those  engaged  in  the  battle  for  humanity.  Whether 
or  not  it  may  realize  the  poet's  idea  and  be 

"  K  great  voice  heard  in  the  breathless  pauses  of  the  fight 
By  truth  and  freedom  ever  waged  with  wrong, 
Clear  as  a  silver  trumpet,  to  awake 
Huge  echoes," 

depends  upon  those  who  represent  it,  and  for  that  rea- 
son this  department  demands  our  choicest  workers. 
We  have  many  women  who  could  not  speak  in  pub- 
lic, but  who  are  to-day  voicing  the  culture  and  train- 
ing of  years  and  making  our  manifold  phases  of  work 
known  to  the  entire  world.  When  I  say  "our,"  I 
mean  the  work  of  temperance  women  in  every  land, 
for  blessedly  has  the  World's  Union  bound  us  all  to- 
gether. 

It  is  not  that  we  may  receive  the  praises  of  men 
that  we  want  our  organization  reported,  but  that  our 
influence  may  spread,  and  "an  arrest  of  thought" 
come  to  the  thousands  who  would  never  attend  a 
temperance  lecture  or  read  a  temperance  paper. 
That  our  "people  perish  for  lack  of  knowledge  "  is 
true  even  in  this  age  of  books  and  papers — at  least, 
for  the  right  kind  of  knowledge.  And  if  we  are  to 
supply  it  on  the  temperance  question  we  must  do  so 


174  ^    YOUNG    WOMAN    JOURNALIST. 

through  the  newspapers,  which  enter  everj-  home.  A 
business  man  who  has  never  heard  of  the  W.  C.  T.  U. 
reads  in  his  morning  paper  that  the  corner-stone 
of  a  Temperance  Temple,  a  building  which  is  to  cost 
over  two  hundred  thousand  pounds,  will  be  laid 
July  4th,  and  he  naturally  wants  to  know  more 
of  an  association  that  can  erect  such  a  structure  on 
the  finest  site  in  Chicago.  He  becomes  acquainted 
with  our  missions  and  ere-long  is,  perhaps,  one  of  our 
most  cordial  supporters. 

Nothing  could  more  forcibly  impress  one  with  the 
absurdity  of  the  Compensation  Clauses  as  a  temper- 
ance measure,  than  the  paragraph  in  Lady  Henry 
Somerset's  grand  address  before  your  May  meeting, 
in  which  she  proved  that  it  would  take  three  hundred 
and  fifty  years  to  reduce  the  public  houses  in  the 
United  Kingdom  to  one  in  every  six  hundred  of  the 
population.  Upon  several  occasions  when  in  conver- 
sation with  gentlemen  who  were  trying  to  convince 
me  that  this  measure  would  very  quickly  do  away 
with  public  houses,  I  have  quoted  this  fact,  and  they 
were  so  astonished  that  they  had  nothing  more  to  say. 
I  wish  this  paragraph,  and  others  from  the  same 
address,  might  have  appeared  in  every  paper  in 
Great  Britain  a  month  ago. 

A  physician  may  be  led  to  investigate  the  subject 
of  non-alcoholic  medication  by  reading  that  the  death- 
rate  in  temperance  hospitals  is  only  one-half  that  in 
hospitals  where  alcohol  is  used.  Or,  pondering  on  the 
causes  of  decease,  he  may  see  the  significance  in  the 
fact  that  the  breweries  of  England  set  free  twenty-five 
million   gallons  of  carbonic  acid  gas  a  year,   which 


A   YOUNG    WOMAN   JOURNALIST.  1 75 

science  teaches  him  is  a  deadly  poison  to  the  human 
system. 

A  few  personal  items  are  a  relief  from  hard  facts 
and  statistics — such,  for  instance,  as  "Thirty  thou- 
sand copies  of  Mrs.  Pearsall  Smith's  '  Christian  Secret 
of  a  Happy  Life'  were  sold  last  year."  I  wish  the 
following  items  might  appear  again  and  again,  in  let- 
ters of  blood  in  every  paper  in  England,  Germany  and 
America,  until  Christians  would  realize  how  worse 
than  useless  it  is  to  send  missionaries  and  rum  in 
the  same  vessel  to  heathen  lands: 

"  Not  long  ago  a  steamer  left  Boston,  having  on 
board  four  missionaries  and  forty  thousand  gallons  of 
rum." 

"Bishop  Wilham  Taylor,  just  home  from  Africa 
for  a  short  visit,  said  in  an  address,  on  Sunday,  May 
4th,  among  other  startling  facts  regarding  the  liquor 
traffic  in  the  Dark  Continent :  '  Hamburg  alone  sends 
out  by  its  English  and  German  steamers,  annually, 
two  hundred  thousand  tons  of  rum  and  gin,— not 
gallons — not  barrels — but  tons.'''' 

I  could  multiply  items  endlessly,  but  I  simply 
want  to  show  the  nature  of  those  given  in  our  bulle- 
tin. Short  quotations  from  the  writings  of  prominent 
men  and  women  are  also  admitted,  while  the  latest 
news  from  our  round-the-world-missionaries  and  re- 
ports of  the  work  in  far-off  lands,  read  like  fairy  tales. 

All  other  departments  are  largely  dependent  upon 
the  Press  department  for  their  presentation  before  the 
public,  and  they  afford  an  almost  exhaustless  supply 
of  facts,  the  publication  of  which  is  of  the  utmost  im- 
portance to  our  own  members  as  well  as  of  general 


176  A    YOUNG    WOMAN  JOURNALIST. 

interest.  At  our  last  annual  convention  each  superin- 
tendent prepared  a  resume  of  the  work  of  the  year, 
which  was  printed,  and  a  copy  given  to  each  of  the 
reporters  that  for  five  days  sat  in  our  sessions  ;  these 
greatly  aided  them  in  making  up  their  reports. 

A  temperance  column  in  every  paper  published  in 
this  land  would  mean  the  enlightenment  of  the  people 
in  every  city,  town  and  village,  and,  if  faithfully  con- 
ducted, would  bring  magnificent  results.  How  do 
your  twenty-five  thousand  members  who  do  not  take 
the  British  Women" s  Temperance  Journal  keep  in 
touch  with  your  leaders  ? 

Oh,  I  wish  temperance  women  everywhere  would 
claim  the  press  for  God,  and  demand  that  it  raise  its 
standard  until  its  aim  be  so  to  tell  the  story  of  to-day 
as  to  make  the  world  better  to-morrow. 

We  shall  reach  this  height.  I  trust  we  may  be- 
fore the  swinging  doors  of  the  twentieth  century  are 
opened  wide,  for  then  "the  women  who  publish  the 
tidings  [will  be]  a  great  host." 


^IHoman's  Signal  Serbice.* 


KSS  than  twenty  years  ago,  the  United 
States  Weather  Bureau  organized  its 
system  of  stations  upon  the  high- 
est peaks  of  observation,  whence  the 
Storm  King  and  his  furious  host 
might  be  hailed  while  yet  afar  off.  Farmers 
consult  the  oracles  before  putting  in  the  sickle, 
and  mariners  before  weighing  anchor. 
Meteorology  is  a  modern  science,  but  the  Divine 
Signal  Service  is  as  old  as  Eden.  In  the  midst  of  the 
Garden,  the  Tree  of  Life  reared  its  flaming  top  and 
bore  its  fruit  labeled,  "Eat  not,  lest  ye  die."  But 
the  warning  was  unheeded,  and  while  the  stars  yet 
sang  their  Hallelujah  Chorus,  woman  and  man  went 
down  together  on  the  reef  of  appetite,  and  cne  shock 
of  the  fall  still  vibrates  through  humanity.  Woman's 
Signal  Service  began  when  Eve  repeated  the  God- 
given  warning  to  the  tempting  serpent,  though  her- 
self overtaken  by  the  cloud-burst  she  had  foretold. 

Tracing  the  path  of  Scriptural  record,  we  find 
woman  often  the  chosen  instrument  of  God.  All  the 
mountain-tops  of  history  are  aflame  with  her  watch- 


*  Given  in  response  to  a  toast  at  a  gathering  of  the  editors  of  the  relig- 
ious papers  of  Chicago.  The  names  of  the  papers  represented  are  woven 
into  the  last  paragraph. 

177 


I  78  A   YOUNG    WOMAN   JOURNALIST. 

fires.  Miriam,  the  inspired  singer,  led  the  host  of 
Israel.  Deborah,  beautiful  in  character  and  noble  in 
life, — the  one  righteous  judge  in  that  long  record  of 
four  hundred  years, — well  knew  when  the  hour  for 
victory  had  come  in  God's  time,  though  neither 
spear  nor  shield  was  seen  among  the  forty  thousand 
of  Israel,  and  challenged  her  cowardly  countrymen 
to  arise  and  lead  their  captivity  captive. 

Coming  down  the  centuries,  we  pause  before  that 
name  at  whose  mention  all  bend  the  knee,  because  it 
represents  woman's  crowning  glory,  motherhood. 
Almost  nineteen  hundred  years  ago  to-night — blessed 
night  for  woman— the  brightest  signal  that  ever  flashed 
upon  the  waiting  and  perishing  world,  shone  out 
above  the  Judean  plain,  not  red  with  warning,  but 
white  with  hope,  and  all  the  earth  joined  the  heav- 
enly chorus  as  it  caught  the  watchword  on  its  shin- 
ing folds,  "  On  earth  peace,  good  will  to  men." 

I  have  sometimes  thought  that  Christ's  coming 
meant  more  to  woman  than  to  man  ;  his  life  was 
alwa5^s  forceful  and  fruitful,  hers  limited  and  meager, 
until  the  Sun  of  Righteousness  shone  out.  But  since 
she  received  her  first  commission  from  Christ  Him- 
self, as  the  messenger  of  the  resurrection,  she  has 
gone  on  her  brightening  path  of  service. 

"  Not  she  with  traitorous  lip  the  Master  stung  ; 
Not  she  denied  Him  with  a  liar's  tongue  ; 
She,  when  apostles  fled,  had  power  to  brave, — 
Last  at  the  cross  and  earliest  at  the  grave." 

Bright  amid  the  darkness  of  those  days  when 
might  made  right,  stands  Clothilda,  whose  form  is 


A   YOUNG   WOMAN  JOURNALIST.  179 

emblazoned  beside  that  of  Clovis  in  commemoration 
of  his  conversion  and  baptism,  not  only  in  the  records 
of  history,  but  on  the  walls  of  the  Parisian  Pan- 
theon. 

In  our  own  proud  city  a  million  hands  are  beckon- 
ing to  the  World's  Fair,  eager  to  pay  homage  to  her 
in  the  light  of  whose  jewels  a  continent  was  dis- 
covered, and  the  vision  of  Columbus  became  a  glori- 
ous reality. 

Elizabeth's  reign  stands  out  as  distinctly  Chris- 
tian, though 

"  Here  trace  we  a  crooked  line, 
There  find  we  a  blotted  leaf." 

Was  not  that  a  Signal  Service  which  for  fifty 
years  fostered  the  flickering  spark  of  learning  and 
fanned  it  into  a  flame  that  lighted  anew  the  world's 
torch  of  knowledge  ? 

These  and  many  other  women  form  beacon-lights 
at  far  intervals  along  the  shores  of  time,  but  not 
until  the  Victorian  age  were  the  women  who  pub- 
lished the  glad  tidings  a  ''great  host." 

It  was  reserved  for  America  to  develop  the  rarest 
excellence  of  woman  in  the  exercise  of  the  largest 
and  truest  liberty  the  world  has  ever  known.  The 
stream  of  influences  spreading  over  Christian  civiliza- 
tion set  steadily  womanward  from  the  first,  but  it  re- 
mained for  the  "  golden  century"  to  see  its  women  so 
filled  with  these  high  influences  that  there  came  an 
overflow  of  good  will  to  men  that  has  swept  the  wide 
earth  over.  The  woman  nature  and  the  mother 
nature,  open  always  to  the  highest  and  best  in  teach- 


l8o  A   YOUNG   WOMAN   JOURNALIST. 

iiig  and  in  practice,  became  the  grand  channel 
through  which  the  Christ-love  flowed  out  to  all  man- 
kind. 

When  the  mother-heart  heard  the  wail  of  the 
thousands  of  mothers  in  bondage,  she  sent  out  such 
an  exceeding  bitter  cry  that  a  nation  sprang  to  arms, 
and  singing, 

"  In  the  beauty  of  the  lilies,  Christ  was  born  across  the  sea, 
With  a  glory  in  His  bosom  that  transfigures  you  and  me. 
As  He  died  to  make  men  holy,  let  us  die  to  make  meu  free. 
While  God  is  marching  on," 

the  Lord  came  down  against  the  mighty  and  the 
fetters  of  a  race  were  broken. 

The  Sanitary  Commission  first  called  into  con- 
certed action  the  women  of  our  nation.  Then  woman 
laid  her  cool,  soothing  hands  on  war's  fevered  brow, 
and  lifting  the  banner  of  the  Red  Cross  she  entered 
the  council  chamber,  and  lo  !  around  its  friendly 
board  the  fate  of  nations  is  decided. 

Then  her  heart  was  stirred  for  those  living  in  dark- 
ness and  sin,  and  in  almost  every  church  in  the  land 
the  altar  fires  were  lighted,  and  the  richest  sacrifices 
laid  thereon.  Were  the  noble  daring  and  devotion 
of  the  many  royal  women  who  are  sent  out  by  our 
great  missionary  societies,  both  Home  and  Foreign, 
to  light  the  signal-fires  wherever  souls  are  in  dan- 
ger, heralded,  as  is  that  of  our  great  explorers,  an 
admiring  world  would  hail  them  with  such  acclaims 
as  not  even  a  Stanley  or  a  Kennan  can  ever  inspire. 

In  the  atmospheric  world,  as  everywhere  in  nat- 
ure, all   things    tend    to  equilibrium ;    consequently, 


A   YOUNG   WOMAN  JOURNALIST.  l8l 

when  the  moral  atmosphere  is  high,  as  in  that 
bright  chain  of  redeemed  states  stretching  from  British 
Columbia  to  Texas,  and  low,  as  in  high  license 
Illinois  and  Penns3^1vania,  there  is  sure  to  be  a  storm  ; 
and  woman,  from  her  signal  station,  sweeps  the  hor- 
izon and  warns  of  all  dangers  that  threaten  her 
kingdom.  And  well  she  knows  where  to  locate  the 
storm  center.  It  is  where  the  forces  that  carry  the 
white  banner  of  Prohibition  encounter  the  hosts  of 
darkness. 

A  million  watchful  eyes  are  scanning  the  heavens 
to-night  eager  to  catch  sight  of  that  white  flag,  and 
read  its  message,  "The  Morning  Cometh."  They 
turn  to  our  Watchman  and  question,  "What  is  the 
forecast  for  '  woman's  century  '  ?  "  and  from  her  lofty 
eminence  the  sentinel  notes  the  rising  of  the  silver 
thread  in  the  barometer  of  vital  forces,  and  the  ebbing 
of  the  wind  current,  and  replies,  "The  white  Stan- 
dard is  afloat.  Every  indication  is,  that  there  will  be 
perfect  weather  throughout  our  hiterior,  especially 
in  the  great  NortJnvesterjt  region.  Every  Christian 
Worker  is  at  his  post.  The  Liinng  Omrch  is  con- 
sumed with  zeal.  Our  Oracle  has  spoken.  The 
Universal  opinion  is  that  we  shall  be  Free  from 
every  yoke,  and  Advance  from  conquest  to  conquest. 
Our  Signal,  uplifted  and  upheld  by  prayer,  floats 
over  all,  true  to  its  motto,  '  Thou  hast  given  a  ban- 
ner to  them  that  fear  Thee,  that  it  may  be  displayed 
because  of  the  truth.'  " 


iLObc'gi  (Brrcting.* 

HOULD   you   ask   me  whence    these 
to)  jewels, 

Whence    these    rocks   so   pure    and 

crystal, 
I  should  answer,  I  should  tell  you  : 
"  From  the  world's  most  sacred  treasures, 
From  the  great  shrines  of  the  ages." 
Should  you  ask  me  why  this  gathering, 
Why  these  lovers,  friends  and  neighbors 
Have  assembled  here  together, 
I  should  answer,  I  should  tell  you  : 
"  They  have  come  to  pledge  their  fealty 
To  the  loved  Queen  of  the  Nation, 
To  the  noblest  among  women." 
They  would  rear  a  cairn  of  friendship. 
Of  rare  gems  and  gold  would  build  it. 
Thus  to  typify  most  fitly, 
That  of  which  herself  is  builded. 
Like  a  diamond  pure  her  soul  is. 
Which  reflects  the  light  of  Heaven  ; 


*  Read  at  the  cairn-building:  on  Miss  Willard's  birthday,  September  28, 
1891.  Miss  Ames  laughingly  said  that  she  would  make  her  "greeting" 
extravagant  enough  to  satisfy  the  most  devoted  admirer  of  her  she  loved 
so  well. 


A   YOUNG   WOMAN   JOURNALIST.  1 83 

And  her  heart  is  like  a  niby, 
Burning  with  a  love  all  Christ-like  ; 
Like  unto  a  brilliant  sapphire 
Is  her  mind,  so  keen  and  sparkling, 
And  like  strings  of  pearls,  pure-perfect, 
Are  the  words  of  wondrous  wisdom 
She  doth  speak  unto  her  people. 

Best  Beloved,  we  do  hail  thee  ; 
Long  may  thy  mild  reign  continue. 
Late  may'st  thou  return  to  heaven. 
There  to  shine  the  brightest  jewel 
In  our  Father's  crown  immortal. 


"  -Requiem  adcrnam  ci,  I^oiT^ine.  ^ona.' 

{Rest  eternal  give  to  her,  O  Lord.) 


IHemorial  Scrbiccs. 


BOSTON. 


HEN  the  released  spirit  had  gone 
home  to  God,  Doctors  Caroline  A. 
Hastings  and  Julia  M.  Plummer,  of 
Boston,  both  devoted  white-ribboners, 
/  who  had  been  not  only  most  assiduous  in 
their  attendance  as  physicians,  but  lov- 
ing in  their  sympathy  as  sisters,  opened  their 
beautiful  home  on  Huntington  avenue,  Boston,  for 
the  brief  and  simple  funeral  services  which  were  held 
on  the  morning  of  Dec.  13,  1891.  Rev.  Dr.  A.  J. 
Gordon  offered  prayer  and  made  the  address.  Mrs. 
Alice  J.  Harris,  the  sweet  singer  of  the  World's  W.  C. 
T.  U.,  whose  beautiful  voice  and  devoted  spirit  had 
been  an  inspiration  to  Miss  Ames  so  recently  in  the 
great  convention,  sang  some  of  the  hymns  to  which 
Miss  Ames  had  often  referred  in  her  three  weeks'  ill- 
ness. One  of  these  was  Cardinal  Newman's  exquisite 
"Lead,  Kindly  Light,"  and  another,  "The  Victory 
Song  of  the  W,  C.  T.  U.,"  a  jubilant  note  of  triumph. 
White-ribboners   of  Boston  were   present,  filling  the 

parlors. 

187 


1 88  A    YOUNG    WOMAN   JOURNALIST. 

EVANSTON — REST   COTTAGE. 

When  all  was  over,  Miss  Helen  Hood  and  Miss 
Bessie  Gordon  started  together  for  the  West,  accom- 
panying all  that  was  mortal  of  their  beloved  white- 
ribbon  comrade.  When  the  hearse  and  carriages 
arrived  at  Rest  Cottage  in  the  gray  evening,  it  was 
illuminated  in  every  part,  and  as  the  casket  was 
brought  into  the  home  Yolande  loved  so  well,  a 
wreath  of  flowers  was  hung  at  the  front  door,  tied 
with  white  ribbon,  and  with  no  reminders  of  the  im- 
memorial mourning  color  that  has  so  long  belied  our 
Christian  faith. 

The  casket  stood  in  the  bay-window  of  the  middle 
room,  which  was  transformed  into  a  bower  of  beauty 
by  wreathed  smilax  and  exquisite  flowers.  At  the 
head  and  foot  stood  palms,  emblems  of  victory  ;  the 
casket  was  banked  in  flowers,  sent  by  loving  friends 
so  widely  scattered  as  to  speak  of  a  love  well-nigh  uni- 
versal. Upon  it  rested  the  ofierings  of  Re.st  Cottage 
friends,  of  her  co-editors,  of  the  Central  Union,  and 
of  Mrs.  Carse,  an  exquisite  tribute  with  the  words, 
"My  Yolande."  In  front,  the  great  cross  of  lilies 
from  I^ady  Somerset  leaned  against  the  casket;  near 
by,  stood  the  large  floral  scroll,  appropriate  testimonial 
of  the  love  borne  her  by  the  Woman's  Temperance 
Publishing  Association,  l^earing  in  purple  letters  on 
the  white  ground,  "  Bereaved  ;  W.  T.  P.  A."  A  great 
bunch  of  roses  spoke  the  affection  of  the  compositors 
who  set  the  type  for  Miss  Ames'  departments  in  The 
Union  Signal.  A  Maltese  cross  of  white,  with  the 
purple   letters,    "I.   H.    N.,"  came   from  the  King's 


A   YOUNG   WOMAN  JOURNAI.IST.  189 

Daughters  at  the  publishing  house,  whose  president 
she  had  been,  and  scores  of  other  offerings  made 
beautiful  the  place  of  her  rest. 

White-ribboners  of  Chicago,  including  the  entire 
editorial  staff  of  The  Union  Signal,  Mrs.  T.  B.  Carse 
and  the  Executive  Committee  of  the  Chicago  Central 
Union,  Mrs.  Caroline  B.  Buell,  Miss  Esther  Pugh,  and 
many  others,  were  present  by  the  impulse  of  a  com- 
mon sorrow.  The  W.  C.  T.  U.  of  Evanston  had  been 
specially  invited,  and  the  service  was  wholly  in  the 
hands  of  the  women  who  had  long  been  Miss  Ames' 
most  intimate  friends  and  associates.  It  was  unique, 
but  homelike  and  sweet  beyond  expression.  We 
could  not  help  thinking  that  if  she  herself  had 
arranged  it,  not  one  detail  would  have  been  changed. 
Its  beauty  would  have  delighted  her  artistic  soul, 
its  tender  homeliness  satisfied  her  loving  heart.  Miss 
West  read  from  Yolande's  Bible,  favorite  and  com- 
forting passages  that  were  marked  in  the  owner's 
familiar  hand.  Standing  with  her  hand  upon  the 
casket,  Mrs.  Carse  poured  forth  a  prayer  in  which 
faith  triumphed  over  grief,  and  praise  was  blended 
with  petitions  for  strength  to  bear  this  crushing  blow. 
"  In  thy  cleft,  O  Rock  of  Ages,"  was  sung,  and  Miss 
Willard,  with  emotion  which  she  found  it  almost  im- 
possible to  suppress,  spoke  as  follows  : 

Many  years  ago  I  used  to  sit  watching  a  famous 
statue  in  the  Vatican  representing  Antinous,  the 
beautiful  youth,  of  whom  critics  say  his  head  bent 
because  it  was  heavy  with  unshed  tears.  Tears  lay 
very  near  the  surface  with  Yolande  ;  yet  smiles  were 
nearest  of  all. 


I  go  A   YOUNG  WOMAN  JOURNALIST. 

Somehow,  as  I  think  about  her,  how  she  loved  us, 
and  how  we  loved  her,  it  seems  as  if  gravitation  sets 
toward  yonder  coffin,  and  it  could  n't  be  other  than 
beaiitiful  to  die— since  Yolande  died.  She  was  so 
homelike,  she  was  so  human,  she  was  so  delightful 
every  way.  I  asked  several  different  women  of  ours, 
who  knew  her  well,  to  tell  me  in  a  word  how  they 
would  characterize  her.  One  said,  "You  know  she 
was  so  handsome."  Another  said,  "She  was  the 
soul  of  winsomeuess."  Another  said,  "I  should 
call  her  gracious. "  And  one  who  had  known  her  in 
the  house  these  years,  said,  "  I  should  sum  it  all  up 
in  the  word  lovableness."  I  told  Miss  West  some  of 
these  characterizations  a  few  minutes  ago,  and  she 
said,  "I  should  say  Yolande  was  gemiiyie.'"  It  is 
greater  to  be  genuine  than  anything  else.  It  requires 
a  certain  mental  poise,  a  certain  level-headed ness  to 
be  true,  clear-grained,  grain  of  the  wood  polished  by 
God's  providence,  and  no  veneering  about  it.  Yo- 
lande was  genuine.  You  could  tie  to  her.  What 
she  said,  rang  out  like  a  gold  coin  on  the  counter. 
She  was  steadfast  and  deep-natured  as  the  tides  of 
the  sea.  She  was  loyal  and  faithful.  She  loved  her 
home.  I  have  in  mind  a  picture  of  each  of  her  rela- 
tives, though  I  saw  but  little  of  them.  I  know  what 
sort  of  people  they  are,  and  we  have  the  highest 
opinion  of  them  from  what  Yolande  said.  I  think 
she  was  her  father's  own  daughter  ;  she  was  in  his 
image  and  superscription.  He  is  a  great,  broad  char- 
acter, tolerant,  not  a  bit  afraid  of  the  next  thing  ; 
born  free,  as  Paul  says.  Yolande  was  tender,  de- 
voted toward  her  mother,  her  sisters,  and  to  her  little 


A   YOUNG   WOMAN   JOURNAI.IST.  191 

nephews  and  nieces,  and  to  all  at  home.  I  know 
she  had  lofty  ideals  about  what  a  home  should  be. 

She  believed  in  one  standard  for  men  and  women. 
She  believed  in  the  utmost  purity  and  clarity  of  hab- 
itude in  the  conduct  of  life.  She  was  a  loyal  friend  to 
men,  sisterly,  kindly,  with  no  little  meanness  of 
remark  about  them,  only  a  great  sisterly  heart  that, 
because  she  loved  her  own  brothers,  and  was  proud  of 
them,  would  reach  out  to  everybody's  brothers  to 
help  make  their  lives  pure  and  good,  knowing  the 
greater  temptations  that  they  have  to  surmount. 
Perhaps  it  was  that,  made  her  a  temperance  woman. 
Of  course  she  had  always  been  one  by  habit.  But  I 
mean  this  made  her  a  worker  along  with  us,  a  beauti- 
ful, sunny  young  recruit  that  came  with  us  who  had 
borne  many  years  of  the  burden  and  heat  of  the  day, 
caught  the  step  of  the  veterans,  and  kept  time  to  the 
company's  music. 

She  was  a  radical  in  a  good  sense.  She  believed 
in  prohibition,  in  its  most  pronounced  and  largest 
fulfillment. 

She  believed  in  women,  and  that  the  world  would 
be  better,  and  happier,  and  richer  when  men  and 
women  had  more  interests  in  common,  more  occupa- 
tions in  common,  and  when  the  great  heart  of  home 
went  out  into  the  world,  since  the  homeless  world  had 
needed  it  so  long. 

She  looked  up  so  much  into  heaven  that  I  think 
maybe  she  was  a  little  weaned  from  this  world,  for  in 
the  sky  there  are  two  hundred  million  stars.  I  think 
she  was  smitten  in  her  soul  with  the  thirst  for  immor- 
tality.    And  after  all,  beloved  friends,  there  is  nothing 


192  A    YOUNG    WOMAN  JOURNALIST. 

else  worth  living  for.  If  we  are  not  immortal,  if  there 
is  not  a  great,  free  life  as  noble  as  the  aspirations  of 
our  hearts,  as  wondrous  as  the  marvel  of  our  brain,  as 
mighty  as  the  faith  that  fastens  itself  on  God,  then  we 
are  the  greatest  mockery  that  has  been  let  loose  to  be 
tormented  by  the  highest  aspiration. 

To-night,  the  lines  radiating  from  that  coffin  are 
lines  of  love  and  inspiration  that  go  to  the  uttermost 
parts  of  the  earth,  and  what  we  read  in  the  Chicago 
headlines,  "Miss  Ames  is  dead,"  will  be  translated 
into  forty  languages  and  repeated  in  every  nation  of 
the  earth.  Some  bright  journalist  in  the  city  said, 
"Yolande,  gifted,  envied,  honored,  revered,  beloved, 
and  dead  at  thirty."  It  has  been  given  to  no  other 
woman  in  America  at  that  age  to  have  made  such  a 
record,  and  we  white-ribboners  know  that  she  was 
just  upon  the  threshold.  We  felt  her  strength.  I 
used  to  say  to  her,  ' '  When  I  am  old  and  tremulous 
and  can't  work  any  more,  you  will  be  in  journal- 
istic life,  my  strong  staff",  Yolande,  and  my  beautiful 
rod."  I  never  was  so  grieved  as  that  she  has  gone, 
since  my  sister  Mary  went.  We  have  stayed  a  little 
longer.  She  has  gone  on  along  the  beckoning  vista. 
We  stay  to  put  up  the  blinds,  and  fasten  the  door  of 
this  frail,  earthly  cottage  and  shall  follow  on  after 
her.     Who  can  tell  how  soon  ? 

But  there  was  one  who  in  all  these  years  stood  by, 
and  having  done  all,  stood,  and  was  with  her  when 
Yolande  said  last  Friday  night,  "  I  am  slipping  over 
the  brink."  Helen  L.  Hood  has  been  nearer  to  our 
promoted  one  than  anybody  else,  and  her  faithful- 
ness is  beyond  all  praise,  not  only  in  this  crisis  but 


REST  COTTAGE— FRONT  VIEW. 


A   YOUNG    WOMAN    JOURNALIST.  193 

all  the  way  along.  Lovel}^  and  pleasant  in  their 
lives,  I  do  not  feel  they  are  divided  in  the  death  of 
one  of  them,  but  that  in  a  deeper  and  a  more  endur- 
ing sense  they  are  together,  one  now  the  guardian 
angel  of  her  who,  with  her  greater  strength,  guarded 
so  faithfully  her  younger  comrade  along  these  earthly 
paths.  The  evening  brings  all  home.  You  and  I, 
beloved,  have  just  a  little  longer.  God  help  us,  by 
our  memory  of  this  sweet,  sisterly  life,  so  modest 
and  so  strong,  to  be  ourselves  more  mellow-hearted 
toward  each  other  and  toward  everybody. 

You  have  been  down  by  this  great  lake  of  ours 
and  seen  how  the  ship  goes  out  and  out,  and  sinks 
and  sinks,  and  after  a  while  the  white  sail  is  seen  no 
more,  and  you  say  to  yourself,  "It  is  gone."  But 
no,  it  is  not  gone.  That  good  ship  had  a  captain, 
and  there  was  a  hand  upon  the  helm.  They  did  not 
notice  that  vanishing,  artificial  horizon  ;  that  was 
simply  the  place  where  your  sight  failed.  And  so 
the  beautiful  life  barque  of  our  Yolande  speeds  on 
over  the  rippling  seas  of  eternity.  The  Captain  of 
our  salvation  gives  the  orders,  the  steady  hand  of  her 
own  consecrated  will  is  on  the  helm,  and  the  sea 
was  never  so  fair,  and  the  sky  was  never  so  bright 
for  her  as  now.  So  let  us  comfort  one  another  with 
these  words,  and  be  glad  of  immortality,  and  of  all 
those  who  have  loved  it,  as  all  great  souls  have  done. 
And  let  us  wait  like  a  sentry  on  duty,  listening  for 
the  word  of  command  in  this  brief,  earthly  battle,  that 
we  may  become  skilled  soldiers  in  the  great  unseen 
battle  of  the  forces  of  good,  when,  with  no  weariness 
following  our  work,  we  are  God's  true,  bright  mes- 


194  A    YOUNG   WOMAN  JOURNALIST. 

sengers  to  the  suffering  and  bewildered  of  this  world, 
' '  for  are  they  not  all  ministering  spirits  ? ' ' 

And  so  I  say,  Good-bye,  my  child,  with  your  fair, 
full  brow,  and  your  gracious,  kind  hand.  I  have 
called  you  my  child  many  a  time  with  a  love  as  great 
as  mothers  feel.  Good-bye,  my  comrade,  faithful, 
loyal,  true.  Good-bye,  my  fellow  soldier,  who 
marched  with  us  and  grew  weary  on  the  way.  You 
will  see  us  some  day,  shouldering  up  the  heights  of 
immortality.  How  glad  your  face  will  be!  And, 
after  my  sister  Mary,  among  all  women  that  have 
gone,  I  shall  look  first  for  Yolande ;  and  we  will 
meet  her,  you  and  I  and  all  of  us,  "we'll  meet  her 
in  the  morning."  Good  friend,  great  heart,  gallant 
leader,  hail,  and  farewell ! 

At  the  close  of  the  service,  all  rose,  joined  hands, 
and  sang,  "Blest  be  the  tie  that  binds,"  then 
Miss  Willard  called  on  her  mother  to  close  with  the 
benediction.  The  dear  old  lady,  who  sat  at  the  foot  of 
the  coffin,  rose,  and  going  to  its  head,  leaning  over 
and  looking  into  the  sweet  face,  said,  "  Our  beloved 
Yolande,  in  whatsoever  land  thou  art,  the  Lord  bless 
thee  and  keep  thee,  the  Lord  make  His  face  shine 
upon  thee,  and  be  gracious  unto  thee  ;  the  Lord  lift 
up  His  countenance  upon  thee  and  give  thee  peace. 
And  may  that  peace  be  with  us  all,  for  Christ's  sake. 
Amen." 

Thus  ended  this  sweet,  beautiful  service,  which 
lifted  the  aching  hearts  out  of  the  sorrow  of  parting, 
into  the  very  peace  of  God  which  passeth  all  under- 
standing. 


A   YOUNG   WOMAN  JOURNALIST.  1 95 

The  next  morning  at  seven  o'clock,  a  few  friends 
gathered  at  Rest  Cottage,  where  Rev.  H.  A.  Delano 
offered  prayer.  As  the  coffin  was  borne  out  from 
the  door  they  sang,  softly,  "  God  be  with  you  till  we 
meet  again." 

STREATOR. — SERMON    BY    FRANCES    E.    WILLARD. 

Text:  "Remember  uow  thy  Creator  in  the  days  of  thy 
youth."  * 

Beloved  and  bereft  ones,  neighbors  and  friends  : 

"  Take  my  life  aud  let  it  be 
Consecrated,  Lord,  to  Thee." 

A  handsome  girl  of  twenty- two,  .softly  struck  har- 
monious chords  of  the  piano  in  our  quiet  parlor,  and 
in  her  rich,  contralto  voice,  sang  these  sweet  words 
by  Frances  Ridley  Havergal.  vSoon  a  deeper  voice 
joined  hers,  and  her  generous,  faithful  friend,  Helen 
L.  Hood,  sang  with  our  Julia  Ames  the  whole  hymn 
through.  This  was  music  we  were  sure  to  hear  at 
Rest  Cottage  every  Sunday  for  six  serene  and  blessed 
years,  now  sorrowfully  ended.  Going  to  Chicago 
early  every  morning,  and  coming  home  weary  every 
night,  these  two  had  little  time  for  singing,  but  their 
pleasant  voices  were  sure  to  be  heard  on  Sunday — 
often  early  in  the  morning— and  our  beautiful  praise 
and  prayer  service  in  the  evening,  of  which  they  were 
central  figures,  lingers  in  my  memory  like  the  chimes 
of  tuneful  bells.     Without  attempting  any  analysis  or 


*  The  asterisks  denote  omissiou  of  passages  given   elsewhere  in  ihe 
book. 


196  A    YOUNG    WOMAN   JOURNALIST. 

exegesis  of  my  text,  I  shall  endeavor  to  present  an 
illustration  of  its  fulfillment  in  the  life  and  character 
of  my  beloved  younger  sister,  Julia  Ames. 

St.  Augustine  said  :  "Thou  hast  made  us  for 
Thyself  and  our  hearts  are  restless  till  they  rest  in 
Thee."  As  the  bird  must  have  the  air,  as  the  fish 
must  have  the  sea,  or  else  they  can  not  live,  so  our 
bright,  genial,  great-hearted  Yolande  knew  that  her 
soul  could  live  only  in  God. 

The  blank  pages  of  her  Bible  are  nearly  covered 
with  extracts  that  reveal  in  fresh,  unhacknej^ed  ways, 
her  memory  of  her  Creator.     These  are  among  them  : 

"Say  j^^  to  God  ,  that's  consecration. 

Hannah  Whitall  Smith." 
Rest  Cottage,  Aug.  29,  1SS6. 

"Be  ambitiously,  positively,  eagerly  good,  and  eternity 
shall  yet  open  around  you  as  the  only  sufficient  field  for  such 
a  life  as  yours,  Phillips  Brooks." 

"Do  daily  and  hourly  your  dutj-  ;  do  it  patiently  and  thor- 
oughly ;  do  it  as  it  presents  itself:  do  it  at  the  moment  and  let 
it  be  its  own  reward.  Never  mind  whether  it  be  known  and 
acknowledged,  or  not,  but  do  not  fail  to  do  it.'" 

"All  before  us  lies  the  way  ;  give  the  past  unto  the  wind    ' 

"  He  who  desires  perfection,  and  has  begun  the  struggle 
which  is  never  to  be  given  up  until  he  has  won  perfection — he 
has  already  the  power  of  perfection  in  his  heart." 

And  this,  from  Robert  Browning,  also  shows  that 
wistfulness  of  nature  known  only  to  the  nearest  and 
most  comprehending  among  her  vast  and  varied  circle 
of  friends  : 

"The  high  that  proved  too  hij^li, 
The  heroic  for  earth  too  hard, 


A   YOUNG   WOMAN  JOURNALIST.  1 97 

The  passion  that  left  the  earth 
To  lose  itself  in  the  sky, 
Are  music  sent  up  to  God 
By  the  lover  and  the  bard  ; 
Enough  that  He  heard  it  once, 
IVe  shall  hear  it  by  and  by  !  " 

Emerson  says  there  is  no  meeting  so  high  as  of 
two  in  one  thought.  With  Miss  Ames  I  constantly 
shared  this  experience,  for  we  both  greatly  loved  to 
give  and  take  in  the  good  things  of  the  spirit.  Times 
without  number  she  sought  my  study  (the  quiet, 
upstairs  "  Den,"  forever  dearer  now  because  so  much 
she  loved  it),  and  with  that  bright,  arch  look  of 
hers,  said:  "  I  saved  this  to  read  to  you."  Perhaps 
it  was  a  bit  of  verse  from  a  newspaper  corner,  per- 
haps a  noble  poem  from  The  Ce7itury  or  The  Atlantic^ 
perhaps  a  great  speech  pregnant  with  hopes  for  dear 
humanity  ;  a  sermon  by  some  God-smitten  man  or 
woman ;  a  character-study  by  some  skilled  word- 
painter,  who  caught  on  the  canvas  of  sympathy  a 
great  soul's  lineaments.  She  was  a  devoted  lover  of 
Robert  and  Elizabeth  Browning,  and  was  better  versed 
in  their  writings  than  those  of  any  other  immortals. 
One  of  her  latest  favorites  was  L,ucy  Larcom's  little 
book,  entitled  "  As  It  Is  in  Heaven,"  in  which,  best 
of  all,  she  loved  the  chapter  called  "The  Threefold 
Cord."  A  few  sentences  will  reveal  much  of  her 
heart  : 

No  two  imperfect  beings  can  form  a  perfect  friendship. 
But  let  them  be  united  in  the  love  of  another,  a  perfect  Being — 
there  is  but  One  such — and  their  friendship  is  firm  as  eternity. 

All  love  is  of  God.  Every  true  friend  is  a  glimpse  of  God. 
The  affection  that  leaves  Him  out,  loses  its  divinest  sweetness. 


198  A    YOUNG    WOMAN   JOURNALIST. 

No  friend  is   truly  known  or  loved  until  loved  and  known  in 
(;od. 

The  threefold  cord  has  not  shown  its  strength  until  it  has 
wound  itself  around  the  great,  lonely  heart  of  humanity,  bind- 
ing it  to  each  separate  heart,  and  drawing  all  together  upward 
and  homeward. 

The  love  that  enlargeth  not  its  borders,  that  is  not  ever 
spreading  and  including  and  deepening,  will  contract,  shrivel, 
die.  That  we  are  the  sons  and  daughters  of  God,  born  from 
His  heart,  the  outcoming  offspring  of  His  love,  is  a  bond  closer 
than  all  other  bonds  in  one. 

In  God  alone  can  man  meet  man. 

We  all  belong  to  each  other,  but  friendship  is  the  especial 
accord  of  one  life  with  a  kindred  life. 

We  tremble  at  the  threshold  of  any  new  friendship  with 
awe,  and  wonder  and  fear,  lest  it  should  not  be  real  ;  or,  believ- 
ing that  it  is,  lest  we  should  prove  ourselves  unworthy  of  this 
solemn  and  holy  contract  of  life  with  life,  of  soul  with  soul. 
We  can  not  live  unworthy  lives  in  the  constant  presence  of 
noble  beings  to  whom  we  belong,  who  believe  that  we  are  at 
least  endeavoring  after  nobleness. 

Who  can  question  the  personal  being  of  God,  when  the 
most  heavenly  minded  persons  we  know  are  only  great  and 
beautiful  to  us  because  they  always  suggest  the  presence  of 
some  One  greater  and  purer,  and  more  beautiful  than  them- 
selves— some  kinder  person  who  is  their  inspiration— to  whom 
their  whole  beings  bow  in  allegiance  ? 

We  say  there  are  no  separations  in  heaven  ;  neither  are 
there  in  the  heavenly  places  of  earth. 

The  loftiest  test  of  friendship -understood  as  companiou- 
ship^is  the  powertodo  without  it.  We  do  not  yield  the  friend- 
ship, but  we  must  again  and  again  forego  the  companionship. 

The  best  proof  of  our  love  for  a  la-'ge.  unselfish  nature,  is 
that  we  are  growing  larger  and  more  unselfish  ourselves. 

Miss  Ames  was  a  notable  admirer.  She  loved  to 
praise  ;  she  walked  through  her  beautiful  3'ears  like 
Aurora,  with  the  sunu)'  hours  for  her  maids  of  honor. 


A   YOUNG   WOMAN   JOURNALIST.  199 

Her  letters  from  Europe  are  of  no  common  order. 
Her  exalted  spirit  echoed  the  inspiring  words, 
"Earth  with  her  thousand  voices  praises  God." 

Miss  Ames  was  born  with  her  face  to  the  future. 
New  departures  did  not  frighten  her.  She  was  a 
stalwart,  and  fought  on  the  picket  line  of  progress. 
She  took  each  incoming  billow  of  the  great  tides  on 
the  tempestuous  ocean  of  reform,  as  a  strong  swimmer 
takes  the  waves. 

She  was  a  woman  of  unbounded  steadfastness.  I 
have  personally  known  but  one  other  who  seemed  to 
me  her  equal  in  this  rarest  and  most  royal  quality. 
She  had  an  anchored  nature  ;  when  she  loved,  she 
loved  ;  when  she  gave  a  promise,  she  kept  it ;  when 
she  made  up  her  mind,  it  was  made  up.  Her  percep- 
tion of  character  was  intuitive,  friendly  and  final. 
Perhaps  this  integrity  of  intellect  and  intense,  intrin- 
sic loyalty  of  heart  made  her  too  severe  upon  those 
wayward,  average  mortals  who  "continue  not  in  one 
stay."  Some  would  call  this  a  fault,  but  that  it  was 
among  her  highest  virtues  others  would  maintain. 
The  other  fault  was  that  our  dear  one  did  not  take 
care  of  her  health.  Like  most  young  women  of 
abounding  vitality,  she  seemed  unconscious  of  her 
limitations  in  respect  to  physical  endurance.  Others, 
she  thought,  must  be  careful  to  wear  overshoes,  but 
not  she ;  others  must  not  sit  up  late,  but  she  could 
burn  the  midnight  oil ;  others  must  wrap  up  well 
when  they  went  out,  but  she  ' '  could  stand  any  kind 
of  weather"  ;  others  must  be  careful  about  their  diet, 
but  she  could  eat  all  things  with  ftnpunity.  Some  of 
us  think  that  if  she  had  been  as  wise  in  her  precau- 


200  A   YOUNG    WOMAN   JOURNALIST. 

tions  here  as  she  was  in  all  things  else,  her  home  and 
the  great  cause  that  had  her  utmost  homage  would 
not  have  lost  so  early  this  incomparable  ally. 

She  worked  too  hard,  for  she  was  one  of  those  who 
could  "toil  terribly";  all  of  us  in  Rest  (less)  Cottage 
are  busy  folk,  but  we  stop  with  the  darkness — and 
Yolande  went  on.  She  said  her  "  bright  hours  were 
her  dark  ones." 

Like  the  rest  of  our  white-ribbon  leaders,   Miss 

Ames  had  little  opportunity  to  meet  her  friends  save 

in  the  work  itself.     Social  to  a  degree  unknown  but 

to  the  most  richly  endowed  natures,  she  fed  her  great 

heart  from  the  springs  of  loving  comradeship  in  daily 

work. 

*  *  *  *  *  * 

I  do  not  believe  a  being  lives  who  ever  saw  her 
without  pleasure,  or  who  did  not  wish  her  well,  and 
her  kindness  to  the  lower  orders  of  creation  merited 
for  her  the  beautiful  compliment  paid  to  the  Southern 
politician,  Alexander  Stephens,  by  his  colored  valet, 
who  said  : 

"  Mas'r  Alick's  as  kind  to  dogs  as  most  folks  is  to 
men  ! ' ' 

She  could  no  more  come  into  a  room  and  not  be 
noticed  than  could  the  sunshine  or  a  full-blown  rose. 

We  all  perceived  that  she  was  growing  daily  to  be 
a  great  soul.  Such  must  have  humor  no  less  than 
pathos,  power  balanced  by  repose.  Such  must  not 
have  petty  ways;  must  not  "take  umbrage,"  nor 
make  an  issue  over  trifles.  They  must  let  every  clock 
tick  on  until  it  has  ticked  out,  and  themselves  only 
chime  the  full,  sweet  hours,  with  voices  musical  and 


A    YOUNG   WOMAN   JOURNALIST.  20I 

soothing.  They  must  have  a  divine,  not  a  human 
curiosity,  never  resting  until  they  have  traced  their 
principles  back  to  the  heart  of  God.  They  must  have 
a  divine,  not  a  human  discontent  ;  a  wistful ness  that 
finds  its  rest  alone  in  Christ  and  His  gospel.  All  this 
we,  her  fond  elders,  saw  was  coming  to  Yolande  Ames. 
She  was  steadily  taking  on  soul.  Some  natures  only 
absorb  and  others  only  radiate — hers  did  both. 
What  she  got  she  gave.  More  and  more,  as  the  years 
passed,  it  became  her  delight  to  do  for  other  people. 
At  first,  I  did  not  see  this  trait  so  strongly,  but  in  the 
last  years  I  have  thought  her  well  described  by  those 
rare  lines  in  which  James  Russell  Lowell  celebrates 
the  woman  he  loved  best: 

"  She  doeth  little  kindnesses 
That  most  leave  undone  or  despise, 
And  naught  that  sets  one  heart  at  ease, 
Or  giveth  happiness  or  peace,' 
Is  low  esteemed  in  her  eyes. 
And  deeds  of  week-day  holiness 
Glide  from  her,  noiseless  as  the  snow, 
Nor  hath  she  ever  chanced  to  know 
That  aught  were  easier  than  to  bless  " 

Take  an  illustration  given  by  one  of  her  sister 
editors.  Their  offices  were  near,  but  their  work  alto- 
gether separate.  One  day  last  summer  Julia  went  to 
her,  and,  standing  by  her  desk,  said  :  "  We  all  lead 
lives  so  busy  here  that  I  have  thought  we  often  fail 
to  speak  the  good  we  think,  and  I  just  came  in  to-day 
to  say  ^  I  love  you.'  " 

"In  all  her  relations  to  the  publishing  house," 
says   one   of    its    workers,    "I    am    impressed    with 


202  A    YOUNG    WOMAN   JOURNAI.IST. 

her    pen'asiveness.       I    mean    that    everybody    loved 
her." 

Humanly  speaking,  women  may  congratulate 
themselves  that  they  have  been  the  most  potent  force 
in  the  development  of  her  harmonious  character. 

Mrs.  L.  H.  Plumb,  vice-president  of  one  of 
Streator's  leading  banks,  was  the  crusade  leader  in 
Yolande's  native  town,  and  though  the  latter  was 
but  fourteen  years  old,  and  a  student  in  the  high 
school,  she  found  time  to  help  her  brave  friend  to  the 
utmost  in  that  great  movement. 

Prof.  Susan  Fr}-,  who  had  the  Chair  of  English 
Literature  in  Illinois  Wesley  an  University,  more  than 
any  other,  aroused  the  aspiration  and  moulded  the 
taste  of  this  remarkable  young  woman. 

Mrs.  Elizabeth  Wheeler  Andrew,  that  fine  spirit 
touched  to  the  finest  issues,  with  whom  she  was 
closely  associated  ■  in  editorial  work,  the  two  coming 
and  going  together  daily  on  the  suburban  trains 
between  Chicago  and  Evanston,  was  a  wonderfully 
close  friend,  who  spurred  the  young  journalist  to  her 
more  than  level  best. 

My  mother's  life  and  character  stood  for  much  in 
summing  up  the  culture  of  these  last  six  years.  Her 
own  daughter  could  not  have  been  more  loyal  to  this 
revered  household  saint  than  were  the  two  friends. 
Helen  and  Yolande. 

The  self-less  life  of  Anna  Gordon,  with  its  un- 
obtrusive but  unceasing  commentary  on  the  Golden 
Rule,  could  by  no  means  be  lost  on  a  nature  so 
impressionable  and  eager  for  the  best  in  character 
and  life. 


A   YOUNG   WOMAN   JOURNALIST.  203 

The  Bible  Readings  of  Miss  Elizabeth  Scovel 
made  a  profound  impression  on  Miss  Ames,  and 
deepened  her  spirituality  in  a  marked  degree. 

Many  a  time  has  she  said  to  me  in  the  last  >ears, 
with  the  most  thoughtful  look  I  ever  saw  in  that  most 
thoughtful  face,  "  If  I  live,  I  shall  some  day  be  an 
evangelist ;  God  is  sending  me  His  call,"  and  I  was 
wont  to  answer:  "My  own  deepest  desire  is  the 
same.  Perhaps,  when  the  Hall  opens  in  the  Temple," 
and  there  are  daily  evangelistic  services,  we  shall 
both  give  ourselves  up  to  that  blessed  vocation." 

Then  her  full-orbed  smile  showed  how  her  heart 
loved  this  beautiful  and  sacred  hope. 

"Tell  me  my  faults,"  was  a  phrase  ever  upon 
Yolande's  lips.  "  I  would  weed  out  my  vocabulary 
as  men  weed  out  a  flower  garden  ;  I  will  not  be  the 
bondslave  of  bad  grammar,  incorrect  pronunciation, 
underdone  manners  or  any  other  evil,  for  that  would 
spoil  the  vines  of  my  culture — for  these  vines  have 
tender  grapes."  Thus  was  she  wont  to  speak. 
Although  she  had  graduated  from  the  high  school,  < 
taken  a  goodly  portion  of  the  college  course  at 
Bloomington  and  the  diploma  of  the  Chicago  School 
of  Oratory,  Miss  Ames  had  a  very  humble  opinion 
of  her  acquisitions.  It  was  perhaps  because  she  was 
great-natured  enough  to  have  had  a  glimpse  of  what 
Socrates  meant  when  he  said  to  his  pupils  :  "  There 
is  but  one  difference  between  us  ;  you  who  know 
nothing  imagine  yourselves  wise,  but  I,  being  igno- 
rant, am  aware  of  it." 

In  view  of  the  fact  that  such  a  standard  historic 
work   as  "  Hallam's   Middle  Ages,"  is  said  to  have 


204  A    YOUNG   WOMAN  JOURNAI,IST. 

not  fewer  than  three  hundred  errors  in  grammar,  and 
that  hardly  a  distinguished  man  or  woman  goes 
through  an  address  without  a  misquotation  or  a  mis- 
pronunciation, it  does  no  injustice  to  the  rare  oppor- 
tunities enjoyed  by  Miss  Ames  as  a  student,  to 
emphasize  her  special  studies  in  English.  The  desk 
at  which  I  sit  in  the  friendly  "  Den  "  at  home,  which 
was  Yolande's  best-loved  retreat,  has  many  a  cabal- 
istic sign  that  stood  to  us  as  token  of  mutual  efforts 
at  improvement  in  many  ways.  She  was  a  joj-ous, 
whole-hearted  companion,  throwing  her  abounding 
spirits  into  every  undertaking,  whether  it  were  a  pro- 
nouncing match,  or  a  bicycle  lesson  ;  a  meeting  of 
our  Rest  Cottage  Club,  "The  Optimists,"  or  the 
' '  working  up "  of  a  symposium  for  The  Union 
Signal. 


Mrs.  Carse,  Miss  West  and  I  met  Miss  Ames  at 
the  Lake  Bluflf  convention  in  1S85.  We  urged  her  to 
"come  awa'  "  from  further  3^ears  of  self-culture  and 
to  give  her  young  energies  to  the  good  cause  that  she 
had  loved  from  childhood  and  in  whose  crusade  Pen- 
tecost, her  first  baptism  of  service  had  come. 

She  attended  our  National  W.  C.  T.  U.  conven- 
tion in  Philadelphia  that  autumn, — and  the  fricnd- 
.ship  which  there  sprang  up  between  herself  and  Miss 
Hood  clinched  the  nail  of  a  sure  purpose  already 
driven  by  conscience  and  conviction.  Six  siiperb 
years  of  service  followed.  First  of  all,  Yolande 
became  local  superintendent  of  Press  Work  for 
Chicago,   opening  to    us   the  columns   of  the  great 


A  YOUNG  WOMAN  JOURNALIST.  205 

newspapers  as  if  by  magic  ;  then  she  was  made 
National  Superintendent,  and  her  systematic  plans 
radiated  out  over  the  whole  great  field;  then  "the 
powers  that  be  "  saw  in  her  a  born  journalist  of  the 
managerial  order,  and  she  was  made  assistant  on  The 
Union  Signal  staff;  later,  she  assumed  the  duties  of 
editor-in-chief  for  well-nigh  a  year  (1889 -go),  since 
which  time  she  has  been  co-editor  of  our  official 
organ.  Her  wide  outlook,  her  journalistic  pre- 
science, her  systematic  ways,  discriminating  taste, 
considerate  style  of  speech  and  correspondence,  strong, 
winsome  ways,  won  for  the  paper  a  host  of  friends 
and  helped  to  build  for  it  firmer  foundations.  In 
1S89  Miss  Ames  went  with  Mrs.  Frances  J.  Barnes, 
by  appointment  of  the  National  W.  C.  T.  U.,  as 
fraternal  delegate  to  the  annual  May  meeting  of  the 
British  Women's  Temperance  Association.  She  there 
won  all  hearts  by  her  genial  strength  of  intellect  and 
sympathy.  The  address  made  by  her  on  "  How  to 
Reach  the  Press,"  led  the  newly-elected  president, 
Lady  Henry  Somerset,  whose  vivid  and  orderly  mind 
perceived  its  value,  to  arrange  for  a  Press  department 
for  Great  Britain.  A  strong  and  tender  comradeship 
developed  between  these  two  bright  young  spirits,  re- 
sulting in  an  invitation  on  Lady  Henr>-'s  part  to  Miss 
Ames  to  visit  her  at  Eastnor  Castle.  When  Lady 
Henry  and  Mrs.  Hannah  Whitall  Smith  arrived  in 
New  York  City  in  October  last.  Miss  Ames  and  Anna 
Gordon  met  them  at  the  wharf.  A  meeting  was 
arranged  in  Washington,  chiefly  by  Miss  Ames,  and 
proved  to  be  a  great  event,  as  it  was  the  closing  even- 
ing of  the  Ecumenical  Council,  which  adjourned  in 


206  A    YOUNG    WOMAN   JOURNALIST. 

time  to  give  the  Metropolitan  Church  for  an  address 
by  our  distinguished  guest. 

Coming  home,  Miss  Ames  threw  herself  with 
ardor  into  preparations  for  the  World's  and  National 
conventions  at  Boston,  November  10-18.  As  Na- 
tional Press  Superintendent,  to  which  office  she  was 
again  elected  by  the  Atlanta  convention  of  1890,  she 
brought  out  a  tasteful  illustrated  volume  of  a  hundred 
pages,  entitled  "  Thumb-nail  Sketches  of  White  Rib- 
boners,"  for  the  use  of  the  press  in  writing  up  the 
convention.  She  was  taken  ill  the  first  week  in 
November,  and  her  nearest  friends  did  their  best  to 
dissuade  her  from  going  to  Boston,  but  she  thought 
she  should  soon  be  better,  hoped  that  change  of  air 
and  scene  might  prove  to  be  just  what  she  needed. 
Arriving  November  9th,  she  went  through  the 
World's  convention  in  Faneuil  Hall,  helpful  to  the 
last  degree  in  her  editorial  duties  and  as  a  "general 
utility"  member  of  the  management.  She  was 
chosen  chairman  of  the  Committee  on  Courtesies, 
upon  which  she  had  served  to  charming  acceptance 
at  the  Atlanta  gathering,  and  her  last  public  work 
was  making  out  a  list  of  all  the  World's  and  Fra- 
ternal delegates  and  distinguished  visitors,  on  the 
first  day  of  the  convention.  I  remember  how  she 
marshaled  that  long  line  of  remarkable  men  and 
women,  presenting  them  to  me  with  so  much  intel- 
ligence, clearness  and  dispatch,  that  without  loss  of 
time  or  any  break  in  the  proceedings,  I  was  able  in 
turn  to  present  them  to  the  great  audience. 

She  was  ill,  then,  but  her  indomitable  purpose 
and    enthusiasm    carried    her    forward  —  alas  !    too 


A   YOUNG   WOMAN    JOURNALIST.  207 

bravely.  Great-hearted  friend,  she  so  loved  Lady 
Henry  Somerset  and  me  that  she  thought  she  must 
be  present  when  our  beloved  guest  gave  the  annual 
sermon  on  Sunday  to  the  overwhelming  crowd  at 
Tremo-nt  Temple.  She  was  ill  all  day  Monday,  but 
she  insisted  on  going  to  the  banquet  to  three  thou- 
sand guests  in  Music  Hall,  because  we  were  both  to 
respond  to  toasts.  At  midnight  she  went  home  ter- 
ribly ill.  The  next  morning  Miss  Hood  carried  her 
to  the  Boston  Homeopathic  Hospital  by  order  of  her 
physician,  Dr.  Caroline  Hastings,  one  of  the  most 
skillful  practitioners  in  that  city  of  distinguished 
women  physicians. 

Here,  on  the  following  Sunday,  I  saw  her  for  the 
last  time.  In  a  large,  sunny,  southeast  room,  with 
pictures,  flowers  and  pleasant  looks  of  home,  I  found 
her  with  that  most  generous  and  faithful  of  all 
friends.  Miss  Hood  ;  beside  her.  Dr.  Hastings  and  her 
partner.  Dr.  Julia  M.  Plummer,  in  attendance,  and 
a  winsome  Scotch  lassie  for  her  trained  nurse. 

I  had  been  to  lunch  with  the  people's  poet- 
laureate,  John  Greenleaf  Whittier,  and  brought  back 
to  Julia  some  fruit  and  a  lovely  book  by  him.  She 
looked  very  ill,  I  thought.  "Doctor,  this  fever 
swoops  down  on  me  like  a  cyclone,"  she  said,  piti- 
fully. I  smoothed  the  broad,  full  brow  and  said, 
"  We  are  all  praying  for  you,  my  child."  "  The 
fever  makes  me  live  in  a  world  bj'-  myself,"  she 
murmured.  "  I  seem  to  be  speaking  to  you  from 
a  distance."  "Yes  I  know  what  that  is,"  I 
answered,  "for  the  only  settled  illness  of  my  life 
was  typhoid   fever  when    I   was   nineteen,   but    I've 


208  A    YOUNG    WOMAN   JOURNALIST. 

been  better  and  stronger  ever  since,  as  I  hope  j-ou 
will  be."  She  smiled  faintly  and  said,  "Tell  your 
dear  mother  I  ask  her  to  pray  for  me,"  and  added 
with  that  curiously  characteristic  nod  of  the  head, 
' '  and  she'll  do  it,  too,  I  know. ' ' 

I  knelt  beside  her,  holding  that  dear,  loyal  hand 
that  had  brought  me  only  blessings,  and  prayed  for 
her  with  all  my  heart.  Rising  to  go,  I  said,  "It  is 
so  safe  to  leave  ourselves  with  God,"  and  pictured  to 
her  what  I  hoped  would  be  the  home-coming  to  Rest 
Cottage,  so  dearly  loved  by  her,  and  the  evening 
talks  and  studies  in  the  "Den."  And  so,  smiling 
into  her  beautiful  face,  now  swollen  and  flushed  with 
fever,  and  with  a  tugging  of  the  heart  that  I  dared 
not  reveal,  I  passed  out  of  our  beloved  Yolande's 
sight,  her  kind  ej^es  fixed  on  me  and  her  deep  voice 
slowly  saying,  "  I  can't  bear  to  see  you  going  away 
from  me.  Chieftain." 

Fourteen  days  they  watched  her  there,  those 
skilled  physicians,  and  loving  friends.  She  talked  of 
the  scenes  that  she  knew  best  and  latest ;  in  intervals 
of  clearer  understanding  she  sang,  "  lycad,  Kindly 
Light"  and  the  matchless  "Victory"  that  had  so 
thrilled  our  hearts  in  the  convention,  with  other 
hymns  she  loved.  She  talked  of  Christ  and  His 
great  power.  She  suffered  little  pain  and  was  per- 
fectly patient  and  lovable,  as  always.  The  fever 
began  to  fall  away  ;  our  letters  w^ere  full  of  hope ; 
they  thought  they  would  return  to  us  by  the  New 
Year.  But  after  twenty-seven  days  in  the  hospital, 
about  ten  o'clock  on  Friday  night,  December  ii,  the 
fatal  hemorrhage  set   in    and   three  hours  later  she 


'^mn4,Uik(JU9.Ji^ 


A   YOUNG   WOMAN   JOURNALIST.  209 

sank  to  rest  after  saying  wearily  to  her  physicians, 
"  I  feel  my  feet  slipping  over  the  brink,"  and  when 
our  devoted  Helen  Hood  knelt  beside  her  saying, 
"  Yolande,  is  n't  it  all  victory  through  Christ?" 
looking  at  her  with  eternity's  great  sunrise  smile 
upon  the  face  we  all  so  loved. 

Happy  the  father  and  mother  of  such  a  child  ; 
happy  the  brothers  and  sisters  who  have  her  memory 
for  their  richest  heritage,  and  the  little  children  of 
their  households  who  found  in  their  joyous  "Aunt 
Jule"  such  a  playfellow  and  friend. 

She  was  a  cosmopolitan  in  sympathy  and  culture, 
a  Methodist  in  creed,  a  loyal  disciple  of  Christ,  a  lov- 
ing sister  to 

"  The  great  humanity  that  beats 
Its  life  along  the  stony  streets." 


In  August  last,  by  my  invitation,  confirmed  by  the 
National  W.  C.  T.  U.,  Miss  Ames  went  with  me  as 
fraternal  delegate  to  the  twenty-first,  annual  meeting 
of  the  Catholic  Total  Abstinence  Society.  We  made 
the  overtures  and  our  brothers  and  sisters  received 
us  with  the  utmost  consideration  and  good  will.  The 
bright  presence  and  womanly  sweetness  of  Yolande 
lent  a  charm  to  our  embassy  and  did  not  a  little  to 
help  make  it  the  great  success  it  was. 

A  young  Catholic  journalist  in  Boston  who  was 
present  at  the  simple  service  conducted  by  our  be- 
loved Dr.  Gordon,  in  Dr.  Hastings'  home,  was  so 
impressed  by  that  calm  young  face  in  the  cofi&n,  that 


2IO  A    YOUNG   WOMAX   JOURNALIST. 

she  said,  "I'm  going  straight  to  church  to  have  a 
mass  said  for  the  repose  of  her  sweet  soul." 

The  white-ribbon  woman  who  is  janitor  of  the 
People's  Church  in  Boston,  and  who  was  doorkeeper 
at  our  late  convention,  took  off  her  badge  and  tied 
it  on  the  wooden  box  that  contained  Julia's  casket  as 
it  stood  on  the  platform  ready  for  the  western  train. 

Lady  Henry  Somerset,  who  knows  the  world's 
greatest  and  best,  loved  her  so  much  that  she  offered 
to  cancel  all  her  engagements  and  go  to  the  hospital 
to  take  care  of  her. 

Nobody  does  things  like  these,  except  for  love, 
and  no  heart  draws  out  love  save  one  that  gives  it  in 
unstinted  measure. 

Streator  sent  forth  to  the  world  this  gifted  girl 
who  in  six  years  achieved  in  character  and  work 
what  might  well  have  claimed  half  a  century,  and 
promised,  had  she  lived  so  long,  a  goodness  and  a 
greatness  unexcelled  by  any  woman  of  her  time.  If 
you  have  others  like  her,  the  world's  heartaches  will 
be  helped  by  them.  May  the  heavenly  inspirations 
of  this  golden  winter  day,  of  this  hallowed  service, 
of  that  eloquent  coffin,  stir  some  youthful  heart  to 
strive  for  the  impossible  best,  and  the  unattainable 
perfect,  as  gloriously  as  did  she  who  plumed  her 
flight,  five  days  ago,  for  her  native  climate  of 
heaven.  The  night  before  she  died  she  said  to 
Helen  Hood  (as  she  had  done  before),  "Please  raise 
the  curtain,  I  want  to  look  at  Christ."  There  on 
the  front  of  a  great  church,  flooded  by  moonlight, 
stood  Thorwaldsen's  statue  of  the  Master.  Long  and 
silently  she   gazed,    while   her   consecrated  soul  was 


A   YOUNG    WOMAN  JOURNALIST.  211 

lifted  up  to  Him  who  said  :  "  He  that  believeth  on 
me  shall  never  taste  of  death."  Oh,  that  Christ  may 
be  to  every  one  of  us  as  from  her  earliest  childhood 
He  was  to  her,  the  sole  star  of  our  destiny. 


Mrs.  Mary  A.  Livermore  was  present  at  the 
funeral  of  Miss  Ames,  and  made  an  impassioned 
address  which  she  was  asked  to  write  out,  but  she 
replied,  "It  came  of  its  own  free  will,  and  it  is 
gone  forever."  She  told  what  she  knew  of  the 
noble  purpose  that  guided  the  active  intellect  now 
translated  from  this  world.  She  declared  that  her 
young-  friend  was  a  stalwart  of  the  stalwarts ; 
that  her  devotion  to  the  great  work  of  temperance 
and  woman  was  sublime,  and  that  the  results  which 
followed  her  efforts  would  forever  be  a  stimulus  to 
the  temperance  workers  who  are  to  come  after  her. 
She  said  if  she  could  put  to  her  lips  the  trumpet  of 
the  immortals,  she  would  waft  to  onr  beloved  Yo- 
lande  the  words,  "  Thou  hast  triumphed  gloriously." 


^xiWtt^. 


[The  following  are  selected  from  the  many  tributes  sent  by 
loving  friends.  Lack  of  space  forbids  the  publication  of  all, 
but  they  are  treasured  with  tender  appreciation  by  those  who 
received  them. — Ed.] 


BON  VOYAGE. 

;N  the  early  spring  of  1890  Miss  Wil- 
lard  wrote,  "  Miss  Ames  is  going 
to  Europe  on  a  vacation  this  sum- 
mer. If  we  can  arrange  for  her  to 
leave  here  in  May,  how  would  you 
like  to  have  her  for  a  companion  and  sis- 
ter-delegate to  the  annual  meeting  of  the 
British  Women's  Temperance  Associa- 
tion ? ' '  adding,  ' '  You  know  what  a  test  to  friendship 
a  foreign  trip  is."  The  reply  that  immediately  arose 
in  my  heart  and  was  forwarded  without  delay,  was 
this,  "  Delighted  with  the  prospect  of  such  a  pleasant 
companion.  Do  plan,  if  possible,  for  Miss  Ames  to 
sail  with  me  May  7." 

At  this  time  my  acquaintance  with  Miss  Ames 
was  very  slight.  We  had  only  met  at  National  con- 
ventions, where  there  had  never  been  opportunity 
for   more   than   a  passing  word  ;    but   I    knew   from 


A   YOUNG    WOMAN  JOURNALIST.  213 

her  genial  smile  and  gracious  bearing  that  I  had 
nothing  to  fear  and  much  to  enjoy  in  the  close  asso- 
ciation anticipated.  And  I  was  not  disappointed. 
Of  the  many  special  blessings  that  attended  my  sum- 
mer abroad,  I  count  the  voyage  across  the  Atlantic, 
the  visit  to  England,  Scotland  and  Ireland  in  com- 
pany with  Miss  Ames,  among  the  chiefest.  To  think 
over  our  experiences,  and  the  happy  hours  spent  to- 
gether, is  like  taking  down  a  treasured  volume  filled 
with  precious  sentiments  and  graphic  illustrations. 
My  journal  and  home  letters  contain  many  allusions 
to  the  name  of  "Yolande,"  and  are  filled  with  inci- 
dents which  came  to  us  during  the  first  weeks  spent 
in  Great  Britain,  and  the  last  week,  when  we  were 
there  together. 

Miss  Ames'  high  standard  for  herself  in  speaking 
and  writing  seemed  to  prevent  her  from  even  making 
an  attempt  ;  with  a  musical,  cultured  voice,  and 
natural  gifts  as  a  writer,  it  was  almost  impossible  to 
induce  her  to  speak  in  public  or  even  to  write  a 
paper.  Knowing  her  capability  I  felt  an  intense  de- 
sire that  she  should  present  to  our  British  sisters  the 
plan  of  Press  Work  which  had  been  so  largely  her 
own  in  this  country,  and  which  she  had  so  faithfully 
put  into  practice.  She  also  felt  that  there  was  a  need 
and  an  opening  for  some  work  in  this  line,  but  it  was 
only  after  the  utmost  persuasion  that  she  was  pre- 
vailed upon  to  prepare  and  read  the  "  Paper  on  Press 
Work"  at  the  Conference  of  the  British  Women's 
Temperance  Association  held  at  the  Headquarters, 
Farringdon  Street  Hall,  June  26.  I  quote  the  follow- 
ing from  a  home  letter  : 


214  ^   YOUNG   WOMAN   JOURNALIST. 

' '  Met '  Yolande'  at  the  Hall  at  three  ;  Lady  Henry 
Somerset  presided.  We  were  so  glad  to  see  her  again. 
Hannah  W.  Smith  was  also  there  with  her  cordial 
words  and  dear,  good  face.  Miss  Ames'  excellent 
paper  was  well  received,  and  the  discussion  afterwards 
showed  real  interest,  w^iich  resulted  in  appointing 
Mrs.  Ward-Poole  Superintendent  of  Press  Work. 
This  was  just  what  Miss  Ames  wanted.  I  was  so 
glad  I  had  insisted  on  Yolande's  paper  coming  first  ; 
after  it,  followed  the  hour  given  to  Young  Women's 
Work,  and  it  was  announced  that  Lady  Henry  had 
accepted  the  Superintendency.  All  seemed  satisfied 
with  the  Conference,  for  which  we  felt  relieved  and 
thankful." 

Immediately  following  this  meeting  Miss  Ames 
left  London  to  join  Mrs.  Willard's  party  for  the  jour- 
ney on  the  continent  and  we  did  not  meet  until  the 
last  of  August,  in  Paris  ;  we  were  together  again 
in  London  before  sailing,  when  one  of  the  happy 
events  was  the  visit  to  the  home  of  Wm.  T.  Stead, 
the  editor  of  the  Reviezv  of  Reviews,  at  Wimbledon. 
Miss  Ames,  through  a  long  editorial  correspondence 
with  Mr.  Stead,  had  come  to  know  him  quite  well, 
and  seemed  to  revel  in  the  congenial  atmosphere  of 
his  pleasant  English  home.  She  paid  kindliest  at- 
tention to  Mrs.  Stead,  whom  she  likened  to  a  sweet 
English  violet,  she  swung  with  the  children  in  the 
swing  suspended  from  a  grand  old  oak  in  the  garden, 
and  laughed  over  the  stuffed,  muzzled  lion  which 
would  still  roar,  that  had  been  presented  to  Mr.  Stead 
by  the  employes  of  the  Pall  Mall  Gazette  when  he 
was  in  prison.     I  like  to  think  of  how  radiant  she 


A   YOUNG   WOMAN  JOURNALIST.  2 15 

was  that  evening,  and  how  intensely  interested  in 
Mr.  Stead's  book  on  Ober-Ammergau,  and  in  his 
plans  for  bringing  out  the  American  edition  of  the 
Review  of  Reviews. 

It  is  impossible  to  suppress  the  thought  or  the 
question  that  arises,  as  to  what  her  young  life  might 
have  been,  what  heights  she  might  have  attained  had 
God  seen  fit  to  perfect  the  life  here.  The  half-blown 
fragrant  rose  was  gathered  before  it  could  be  blighted, 
or  fade,  or  wither.  We  must  rejoice  in  its  promise, 
and  rest  satisfied  that  its  unfolding  was  in  the  hands 
of  the  Heavenly  Husbandman. 

In  an  old  cemetery  at  Baden-Baden  there  is  a 
beautiful  monument  to  Queen*  Victoria's  half  sister, 
the  Princess  Hohenlohe.  It  was  designed  by  one  of 
her  sons,  and  consists  of  a  high,  white  marble  cross, 
against  which  leans  a  lovely  female  figure  in  an 
attitude  of  repose  that  would  suggest  sorrow  ;  but 
the  fine  face  turned  heavenward  seems  illuminated, 
and  as  one  gazes  admiringly  the  interpretation  comes. 
It  is  the  representation  of  Eternal  Hope. 

Such,  now,  it  seems  to  me,  must  be  the  counte- 
nance of  our  translated  friend  ;  the  brief  journey  of 
life  is  over,  like  the  summer  vacation  across  the  seas, 
and  there  in  the  safe  harbor  she  watches  for  the  white 
sails  of  the  coming  fleet,  which  one  by  one  enter  the 
port  after  a  bon  voyage. 
New  York  City.  Frances  J.  Barnes. 


No  truer  word  did  Miss  Willard  speak  than  when 
she  said  of  Yolande,  ' '  Her  thirst  for  knowledge  was 


2l6  A   YOUNG   WOMAN    JOURNALIST. 

only  excelled  by  her  thirst  for  goodness."  No  one 
knew  this  better  than  I,  for  how  often  did  she  pour 
out  to  me  her  wishes,  her  aspirations  toward 
the  highest  ideals,  and  beg  me  to  aid  her  in  the 
things  in  which  she  thought  me  able  to  give  her 
help. 

She  now  sees  "face  to  face."  How  well  I  re- 
member two  5'ears  ago,  when,  in  conversation  con- 
cerning the  holiest  spiritual  things,  she  cried,  out  of 
her  inmost  longing,  "  IVou/d  that  I  could  have  one 
glimpse  of  Jesus  !  ' '  She  has  known  long  since  the 
blessedness  of  realizing  the  promise,  "  They  shall  see 
His  face."  What  must  this  be  to  her  !  Hundreds  of 
memories  crowd  upon  me  to-day  of  her  goodness, 
gentleness,  thoughtfulness  for  others,  affection,  eager 
aspiration,  and  spiritualit}-.  Hour  after  hour  these 
beautiful  remembrances  have  trooped  by  me  to-day  in 
endless  procession,  like  angelic  visitants.  She  had 
the  deepest  conviction  that  she  was  destined  to  die 
young,  and  often  spoke  of  this  to  me,  always  adding, 
'*  I  have  no  dread  of  death  whatever,  and  it  does  not 
trouble  me  in  the  least  to  know  that  my  earthly  life 
will  be  short."  At  one  time  she  spoke  to  me  of 
dreaming  that  a  voice  said  to  her  in  clear,  solemn 
tones,  over  and  over,  "  Eternity  !  Eternity  !  "  And 
when  she  told  me,  she  said,  "  It  means  what  I  have 
often  told  you."  For  days  after  this  she  said  to  me, 
every  now  and  then,  "  Mrs.  Andrew,  I  hear  that  word 
reverberating  in  my  ears,  and  waking  my  whole  soul 
to  be  ready.''  I  saw  the  word  written  on  the  backs  of 
envelopes  and  slips  of  paper  on  her  desk  several  times 
during  this  period,  and  was  thrilled  at  the  sight,  for  it 


A    YOUNG   WOMAN  JOURNALIST.  21 7 

showed  me  how  her  whole  thought  and  even  her  un- 
conscious action  were  filled  by  it. 

Elizabeth  Wheeler  Andrew. 
Calcutta,  India. 


It  will  be  a  long  time  before  we  cease  to  miss  her 

smiling   face  and  her  almost  invariable    greeting   as 

she  came  into  the  composing-room  :    "Well,  how  is 

everything  ?  ' ' 

Mrs.  a.  E.  Pratt. 

(Make-up  of  The  Union  Signal.) 

I  like  best  to  remember  Julia  Ames  in  her  hours 
of  recreation.  Had  such  hours  been  less  rare  the 
golden  bowl   might   not  so  soon  have   been  broken. 

Natures  like  hers  do  not  long  endure  in  the  tread- 
mill of  business,  where  duty  requires  conformity  to  the 
plummet  and  line  of  regular  hours  and  measured  pro- 
duction. Theirs  are  better  gifts  and  higher  talent 
than  can  be  put  to  use  in  any  ''office" — save  the 
tender  offices  of  home,  whose  warmth  is  their  native 
air,  where  they  unfold  beauty  in  the  sunshine  of  love, 
bending  to  every  breeze  of  joy,  and  giving  out  the 
balm  of  unselfishness  to  make  all  around  them  hap- 
pier and  holier.  Such  women  are  cut  closest  to  God's 
pattern  of  womanhood,  and  so  I  fill  to  the  brim  the 
largest  cup  of  praise  in  saying,  "  Miss  Ames  was  a 
sweet  home  woman  !  " 

Numerous  temperance  pilgrims,  visiting  the  shrine 
of  their  national  paper — The  Union  ^/^wa/— immedi- 
ately recognized  her  social  talent  and  marked  her  as 
hostess.     She  was  too  genial  ever  to  have  a  "busy 


2l8  A   YOUNG    WOMAN    JOURNALIST. 

day,"  and  so  it  came  to  pass  that  copy  and  proof 
pressed  upon  the  hours  when  others  ate  and  slept. 
Luncheon  at  her  desk,  with  a  sandwich  in  one  hand 
and  a  "galley  proof"  in  the  other,  was  so  frequent  as 
almost  to  be  the  rule.  I  tried  to  be  a  sort  of  Fresh 
Air  Mission  to  her,  and  when  I  succeeded  in  coaxing 
her  away  for  a  little  while  was  richly  repaid,  for  she 
was  charming  to  rest  with. 

My  part  of  this  composite  photograph  shall  be  a 
glimpse  of  her  in  one  of  these  outings.  It  was  the 
occasion  of  unveiling  General  Grant's  monument  in 
Lincoln  Park,  October  7,  1891.  The  Army  of  the 
Tennessee  and  the  Grand  Army  of  other  states 
were  in  the  city.  Street-cars  of  every  kind  had  been 
taken  off  to  give  right  of  way  to  the  procession,  while 
the  sidewalks  teemed  with  non-military  folk.  Into 
this  hot  tide  of  hero- worshipers  we  plunged,  feeling 
ourselves  part  of  it.  After  "marching  with  the  pro- 
cession "  half  a  mile,  we  turned  into  a  shop  owned  by 
a  German  friend  of  ours,  to  see  the  pageant  pass. 
There,  like  school-girls,  we  stood  upon  chairs  just 
outside  the  door,  eating  apples  offered  by  our  gener- 
ous host— exchanging  thought  and  word  as  the 
human  kaleidoscope  went  by.  In  such  a  scene  the 
little  touches  that  make  us  all  akin  are  numberless, 
and  she  was  alive  to  all.  One  feature  of  the  parade 
was  a  bwgade  of  policemen,  eight  hundred  strong, 
nearly  every  man  leveling  up  to  the  stature  of  six  feet. 
As  they  passed  she  spoke  her  sympathy  with  my 
work  for  drinking  men  in  Bethesda  Mission,  and 
said  :  "  I  have  always  thought  that  some  time  I  shall 
do  something  of  that  kind,  and  I  want  it  to  be  for 


A    YOUNG   WOMAN  JOURNALIST.  219 

policemen"  ;  and  as  we  talked,  I  learned  it  was  an 
idea  she  had  long  cherished. 

Miss  Ames  looked  upon  that  day  as  a  forecast  of 
the  great  days  of  the  World's  Fair,  in  which  she  was 
much  interested.  This  was  her  opportunity  to  speak 
of  what  she  had  previously  hinted,  as  a  "  pet  scheme" 
to  be  unfolded  as  soon  as  we  could  talk  it  over  ;  so 
she  told  me  her  desire  that  I  should  be  World's  Fair 
correspondent  for  The  Unioii  Signal,  which  she  be- 
lieved could  do  nothing  better  for  its  twin  causes, 
temperance  and  women,  than  to  give  large  space  to 
the  great  world's  tournament  of  industry.  "I  am  a 
perfect  enthusiast  about  the  opportunities  there  will 
be  for  doing  temperance  work  and  helping  women," 
she  said.  She  had  bought  two  large  scrap-books,  ex- 
pecting to  fill  them  with  current  matter,  in  order  to 
have  such  a  history  of  the  development  of  the  Colum- 
bian Exposition  as  could  only  be  obtained  from  the 
flash  light  observations  of  newspaper  correspondents 
at  every  stage. 

Passing  a  confectionery  shop  on  our  return,  she 
announced  with  merry  twinkle  of  eyes  and  twist  of 
mouth,  "I'm  going  to  treat.  What  will  you  have  ? '' 
That  was  the  last  of  sweets  together.  I  never  again 
saw  her  "with  shoulder-straps  off,"  until  I  looked 
upon  the  still,  white  coat  of  mail  laid  aside  by  the 
gentle  warrior  as  she  entered  the  heavenly  ranks,  to 
march  by  higher  harmony  to  greater  victory  than  is 
known  to  earthly  soldiers  of  the  cross. 

Bessie  V.  Cushman. 

Chicago,  III. 


220  A    YOUNG   WOMAN  JOURNALIST. 

Ofttimes  along  the  "many  years"  have  I  been 
called  upon  to  lay  away  the  young  and  lovely  of  my 
own  family,  and  to  offer  sympathy  to  others  in  like 
bereavement.  Now  I  come  softly  with  dear  white- 
ribbon  sisters,  to  lay  a  fresh  garland  of  love  and  ten- 
der admiration  upon  the  memory  of  our  own  precious 
Julia  Ames. 

To  me  she  was  an  inspiration  :  her  face  so  attract- 
ive, her  form  so  assuring  of  health  and  success  in  all 
undertakings,  and  the  sweet  fragrance  of  her  affec- 
tionate nature  so  touching,  that  memory  calls  up 
most  readily  each  incident  of  past  association  with 
her,  each  new  token  of  affection  and  respect,  each 
generous  action. 

So  much  has  been  said  and  written  that  it  only 
remains  for  me  to  say — /  sorely  miss  her — for  even 
her  business  notes,  (often  much  hurried)  were  fra- 
grant with  the  sweet  kindness  of  her  heart  and 
I  always  felt  happier  for  having  received  them.  I 
thank  the  dear  Father  for  the  blessed  privilege  of 
meeting  "Julia"  in  Boston  at  our  grand  convention, 
for  the  loving  interchange  of  thought,  and  for  sym- 
pathetic relation  of  past  experiences  ;  for  the  precious 
opportunity  of  sending  the  dear  sufferer  a  fragrant 
token  of  my  overflowing  heart-sympathy,  when  she 
was  no  longer  able  to  see  me. 

"  Rest  iu  peace,  thou  geutle  spirit. 
Throned  above, — 
Souls  like  thine  with  God  inherit 
Life  and  love  !  " 

Eliza  J.  Thompson. 
Hillsboro,  Ohio. 


A    YOUNG   WOMAN   JOURNALIST.  221 

Just  a  few  weeks  ago  we  came  with  our  tears  and 
our  lilies  and  roses,  hyacinths  and  violets,  a  tribute  to 
the  lovable  girl  who  had  been  so  suddenly  called  from 
us.  That  she  "was  not,"  was  all  we  realized  that 
day  ;  we  could  not  comprehend  the  great  blank  in 
our  circle,  the  great  void  in  our  hearts. 

We  were  just  facing  that  question  of  the  ages, 
asked  anew  by  her  little  nephew,  "Mamma,  what 
did  God  take  out  of  Auntie  Du  and  take  up  to 
heaven  ?  ' ' 

To-day  we  come  with  the  tribute  of  the  bay  leaf 
and  the  palm  branch,  and  "  pansies  for  thoughts, " — 
the  appreciation  for  a  beautiful  life  and  the  incentive  to 
other  girls  to  make  their  lives  felt.  We  know  better 
to-day  what  we  have  lost,  and  with  sore  and  bur- 
dened hearts  tell  where  we  miss  her,  that  others  may 
take  heart.  I  think  of  my  first  meeting  with  her, 
and  how,  in  my  jealousy  for  our  beloved  Union 
Sigyial,  I  watched  her  to  see  whether  behind  that 
young,  bright,  beautiful  face  there  was  power  for  her 
responsible  position.  Just  one  little  remark,  casually 
made,  set  me  at  rest  and  I  saw  the  hands  were  strong 
enough  for  the  burden.  She  was  that  rare  character, 
a  born  editor.  A  fine  writer,  she  always  shrank  from 
writing,  leaving  it  to  older,  more  experienced  pens  ; 
but  her  keen  discrimination,  her  sound  judgment  and 
her  strong  good  sense,  gave  quick  insight  into  the 
suitabilities  of  material ;  and  her  unfailing  sunny 
temper  and  kindly  courtesy  made  it  impossible  for 
an  author  to  resist  her  appeals  for  some  specialty 
which  she  discerned  was  needed. 


222  A    YOUNG    WOMAN   JOURNALIST. 

Untiring,  indefatigable,  conscientious,  her  con- 
stant aim  was  to  make  of  her  part  in  The  Union 
Signal  all  that  was  needed  for  its  grand  constituency, 
ever  to  lift  it  to  the  highest  planes  and  the  broadest 
outlook,  and  she  always  walked  with  clearest  integ- 
rity and  highest  sense  of  honor. 

But  those  of  us  who  lived  nearest  her,  love  best  the 
home  and  social  side,  the  quick  flash  of  wit,  the 
thousand  and  one  expressions  of  constant  aff'ection, 
the  little  "domesticities"  which  could  be  accorded 
to  such  a  busy  life.  From  these,  I  can  not  lift  the 
veil  ;  the  memories  are  too  tender,  the  sense  that  in 
these  places  she  is  ever  beyond  our  ken  and  call, 
gives  such  a  heartache  that  I  can  not  tell  of  them. 
She  enriched  all  lives  that  she  touched.  How  much 
this  is  to  say  of  a  life  which  went  out  in  the  early 
morning,  with  all  the  dew  and  freshness  of  her  girl- 
hood upon  it  !  The  years  of  my  friendship  and  love 
shall  be  laid  away  in  the  lavender  of  those  things 
which  I  desire  to  keep  forever,  to  which  I  turn  for 
comfort  and  hope  in  weariness  and  disappointment. 
.  Her  Christian  faith  was  always  reverent,  hopeful 
and  deeply  rooted — the  daily  walk,  the  marked  Bible 
evidence  this.  To  the  natural,  most  attractive 
endowments  was  added  the  crowning  glory  of  life 
early  dedicated  to  Christ,  and  thus  the  years  so  few 
were  rounded  up  to' completion,  and  the  cycle  so 
soon  run,  filled  the  measure  that  for  so  many  requires 
far  greater  span.  She  realized  "  all  things  are  yours, 
and  ye  are  Christ's  and  Christ  is  God's." 

Esther  Pugh. 

Evansioii,  III. 


A   YOUNG    WOMAN    JOURNALIST.  223 

HIS    MEANING. 

What  could  it  mean  ?     On  the  joy  of  our  day 

This  swift  gloom  of  night  ! 
Can  He  mean  us  to  work,  or  to  think  or  to  pray, 

With  her  face  out  of  sight  f 

Had  He  need  of  an  angel,  gracious  and  fair, 

To  wait  near  heaven's  door, 
To  welcome  the  pilgrims  entering  there? 

Ah,  we  needed  her  more  ! 

What  NEED  in  a  land  of  such  blessed  release 

From  all  sorrow  and  ache. 
Of  the  voice  and  the  touch  that  were  comfort  and  peace 

To  hearts  here  that  break  ? 

Could  it  be  that  up  yonder,  the  souls  true  and  strong, 

Their  earth  conflicts  o'er — 
Caught  the  thrill  from  afar  of  our  battle  with  wrong. 

And  longed  to  know  more  ? 

Could  it  be  that  those  angelic  forces  of  God, 

Aye  seeking  new  grace. 
Could  be  stirred  by  her  tale  of  the  ways  we  had  trod. 

And  the  light  in  her  face  ? 

And  throbbing  and  thrilling  with  news  of  our  strife 

For  the  tempted  and  lost. 
Would  rally  all  powers  of  the  heavenly  life 

To  help  our  "  great  host  "  ? 

God  knows  !     If  upon  us  fell  power  from  on  high 
To  strive  and.  to  pray, 


224  ^   YOUNG    WOMAN  JOURNALIST. 

If,  eacli  even,  the  banner  we  fling  to  the  sky 
Marked  a  conquering  day — 

It  forces  unseen  and  divine  held  us  up 

When  strength  was  nigh  spent. 
Our  lips  would  find  sweet  e'en  the  dregs  of  this  cup- 

We  should  know  what  He  meant. 

Mary  Lowe  Dickinson. 
New  York  City. 


I  think  Miss  Ames,  as  she  passed  away,  must 
have  been  in  some  such  frame  of  mind  as  the  good 
Quaker  woman,  who  being  asked  if  she  had  made 
her  peace  with  her  Maker,  replied  :  "I  am  not  aware 
that  there  has  been  any  trouble."  Goodness  was  her 
normal  state,  or,  at  least,  a  state  in  which  she  luxu- 
riated, as  a  tropical  plant  luxuriates,  all  the  year 
round.  She  was  the  embodiment  of  so  many  moral 
graces  that  she  seemed  the  queen  and  priestess  of 
grace  itself.  And  now  that  she  has  become  a  ' '  par- 
taker of  the  inheritance ' '  reserved  for  such  as  she,  it 
seems  not  irreveirent  or  sentimental  to  think  and  say — 
though  our  eyes  are  not  permitted  to  see  it — "  How 
well  the  halo  becomes  her." 

It  was  my  privilege  for  a  period  of  several  years 
to  meet  her  almost  dailj'.  The  details  of  work  in 
the  publication  house  with  which  we  were  both  asso- 
ciated, frequently  brought  us  together.  Her  executive 
skill  and  able  judgment,  often  in  matters  for  which 
experience  had  not  trained  her,  were  a  continual 
surprise  to  me.  I  think  she  was  a  journalist  by 
instinct.      Her  equanimity  was  a  perpetual  marvel, 


A    YOUNG   WOMAN  JOURNALIST,  225 

her  courteousness  a  constant  charm.  Courage  and 
sincerity  went  before  her,  gentleness  and  cheerfulness 
were  ever  her  handmaids,  and  in  their  train  were 
patience,  unselfishness  and  humility — 

"  Humility,  that  low,  sweet  root 
From  which  all  heavenly  virfues  shoot." 

These  are  the  things  I  remember  of  Miss  Ames— 
these  and  her  friendship,  which  all  who  shared  will 
cherish  as  a  gleam  of  sunshine,  the  memory  of  which 

"  Brightens  o'er  the  past, 
As  when  the  sun,  concealed 
Behind  some  cloud  that  near  us  hangs, 
Shines  on  a  distant  field." 

Mather  Dean  Kimball. 
Ravenswood,  III. 


I  had  been  a  neighbor  of  the  Ames  family  for 
some  years,  but  not  particularly  acquainted  with 
Julia,  till,  in  the  latter  part  of  the  seventies,  a  ''tem- 
perance wave"  struck  Streator,  bringing  in  its  wake 
a  great  amount  of  work  for  a  few  people.  I  was  at 
that  time  president  of  the  district  W.  C.  T.  U.,  and, 
as  a  consequence,  much  of  that  work  came  to  me. 
Why  I  chose  Julia  Ames,  a  school-girl,  for  my  helper, 
I  can  not  tell,  unless  (as  I  think)  I  was  divinely  led. 
The  result  showed  that  to  be  the  case,  for  never 
worker  had  a  more  efi5cient  and  trusty  helper.  What 
Julia  Ames  agreed  to  do  was  done,  if  it  were  among 
the  possibilities,  and  sometimes  more  was  accom- 
plished than  seemed  possible.     I  remember  saying  to 


226  A   YOUXG    WOMAN   JOURNALIST 

her,  "  It  would  be  an  improvement  if  there  could  be  a 
piano  in  the  hall  where  the  meetings  are  to  be  held," 
but  I  added,  "  It  is  no  use  thinking  of  such  a  thing ; 
it  is  raining,  and  we  could  get  no  one  to  move  a  piano 
for  us  to-day."  The  evening  came  and  the  piano 
was  there ;  on  my  asking  Julia  about  it,  she 
said,  with  one  of  those  lovely,  arch  smiles  so  well 
known  to  her  friends,  "Oh,  I  managed  it."  I 
coveted  Julia  for  the  W.  C.  T.  U.  work,  and  it 
was  a  proud  and  happy  day  for  me  when  she  came 
into  the  place  for  which  the  Lord  designed  her,  and  I 
easily  predicted  for  her  a  long,  brilliant  and  useful 
career  in  this  field  so  much  to  her  liking. 

But  death  came,  and  we  feel  that  he  loves,  indeed, 
"a  shining  mark."  We  know  the  Lord  had  some 
great  design  in  thus  cutting  short  a  work  which  we 
thought  had  but  just  begun,  but  it  is  hard  to  say, 
"  Thy  will  be  done." 

Mrs.  L.  H.  Plumb. 
Streator,  III. 


COMRADES    TWO.* 

We  Stood  in  an  eloquent  silence. 

These  holiest  days. 
When  thoughts  of  the  Christ  have  been  woven 

In  sweetest  of  lays  ; 
We  came  where  the  years  were  dividing 

The  new  and  the  old, 
And  pausing  'twixt  grave-heap  and  garland, 


*  Mrs.  S.  J.  C.  Downs,  President  of  New  Jersey  W.  C.  T.  U.,  passed   to 
'  the  life  beyoud,  '  November  lo,  1892. 


A   YOUNG   WOMAN  JOURNALIST.  227 

We  counted  the  gold 
Of  sands  that  for  joy  or  for  sorrow 
Move  on  where  awaiteth  the  morrow, 

With  story  untold. 

All  songs  have  seemed  far  in  the  stillness, 

Like  strain  of  a  lute 
That  trembles  alone  o'er  the  waters 

When  voices  are  mute  ; 
But  years  that  divide  do  not  move  us 

To  sharpness  of  pain, 
So  little  they  seem,  with  their  burden 

Of  losses  and  gain, 
When  souls  have  come  near  the  immortals, 
And  treading  the  edge  of  life's  portals, 

Been  thrilled  with  their  strain. 

We  heard  in  the  circle  of  silence, 

The  falling  of  tears, 
Have  scented  the  fragrance  of  roses 

Love  brought  to  a  bier  ; 
Have  listened  while  low,  tender  voices, 

Half  under  their  breath, 
Were  speaking  of  farewells  and  partings— 

And  talking  of  death. 
But  out  from  a  glory  supernal 
There  thrilled  a  great  voice,—"  Life  eternal 

I  give  them,"  it  saith. 

One  life  was  a  sheaf  at  its  ripeness, 

Of  goldenest  grain, 
Its  wealth  had  the  glory  of  sunlight, 

And  sobbing  of  rain  ; 


228  A    YOUNG    WOMAN  JOURNALIST. 

Ah  !  who  shall  dispute  with  the  Master 

For  whom  it  was  grown, 
That  now  in  its  day  of  completeness 

He  gathers  His  own  ? 
Or  who  to  earth's  duty  and  sadness 
Would  call  the  great  soul  from  the  gladness 

That  heaven  makes  known  ? 

One  life  was  a  flower  prophetic, 

Aglow  with  the  June  ; 
Why  tarried  it  not  for  the  fruitage, 

But  faded  ^o  soon  ? 
Ah  !  who  shall  declare  in  what  region 

Should  come  to  its  best 
The  soul  that  so  utterly  loving 

Is  utterl}'  blest  ? 
Or  who,  in  these  daj^s  of  bereaving, 
Would  break  by  a  sob  of  our  grieving. 

Ineffable  rest  ? 

Ah,  comrades  !  we  stand  in  the  silence^ 

Homesick  for  a  day. 
But  how  can  our  anguish  be  bitter  ? 

We  follow  that  way. 
L,et  us  lift  up  our  hearts,  our  beloved 

Love  on  as  of  yore  ; 
Who  knows  but  in  stress  of  the  battle 

They  haste  to  the  fore  ? 
'*  Then  onward,  ye  brave,"  to  the  duty;    . 
Not  far,  with  the  King  in  His  beauty, 

We  greet  them  once  more. 

M.^Rv  T.  Lathrai' 
Jackson,  Mich. 


A   YOUNG   WOMAN  JOURNALIST.  229 

When  Miss  Ames  died,  there  went  back  to  God  a 
soul  as  sweet  as  a  singing  thrush.  The  world  for 
many  of  us  will  be  a  little  lonelier  and  a  little  chillier 
for  her  going,  but,  after  all,  it  is  blessed  to  think 
how  early  she  finished  the  journey,  and  how  while 
yet  the  sunshine  lay  upon  its  sails  she  turned  the 
prow  of  her  swift  boat  heavenward  and  homeward. 
Many  of  those  who  loved  the  true  heart  that  has  left 
us,  know  something  of  the  tender  friendship  that  knit 
the  soul  of  Julia  Ames  to  that  of  her  faithful  friend 
who  watched  her  night  and  day  through  the  last 
bitter  illness,  brought  her  back  across  the  stretch  of 
dreary  country  that  lay  between  the  eastern  sea  and 
her  western  home,  sat  close  to  the  coffin  while  it  lay 
in  the  little  parlor  at  Rest  Cottage  during  those 
never-to-be-forgotten  memorial  services,  and  only 
turned  back  to  her  work,  and  resumed  its  'burden, 
when  the  grave  had  forever  closed  over  the  bright 
and  beautiful  face  of  the  sister  of  her  soul.  It  is  not 
often  that  two  women  love  each  other  with  the  large 
and  perfect  love  that  existed  between  Miss  Hood  and 
Miss  Ames,  and  in  the  future  whenever  a  tear  is 
dropped  to  the  memory  of  one,  another  tear  will 
fall  for  the  other,  whose  steadfast  so  ill  will  never 
cease  its  mourning  while  it  lingers  on  these  earthly 
shores=  Mrs.  m.  E.  Holden. 

("Amber.") 
Chicago.  III. 


I  sit  here  at  my  study  desk  paralyzed  and  dazed 
at  it  all.  I  can  not  write  any  more  on  my  notes  for 
Sunday's  sermon,  for  thinking  about  it.     Julia  Ames  : 


230  A   YOUNG  WOMAN  JOURNALIST. 

I  did  not  know  her  as  I  know  some  of  you,  but  some- 
how it  does  seem  personal.  It  seems  like  a  sister 
gone.  I  only  met  her  in  that  serene  and  sacred  land 
of  friendly  conventionality  where  in  daily  sympathy 
and  in  pursuits  beneficent,  we  of  the  despised  set  of 
radicals,  met  ;  but  I  caught  an  inspiration  of  her  pure 
soul,  majestic  mentality  and  her  womanly  grace. 
She  had  natural  ability,  dignity,  tenderness,  yet  reso- 
lution indomitable.  There  are  many  great  ones  nowa- 
days. Had  she  lived  earlier  she  would  have  stood 
without  a  peei  among  many  hundreds  of  her  sister- 
hood. As  it  is,  she  was  nobly  fashioned,  cultured  of 
our  God,  and  developed  into  something  resplendent  as 
well  as  lovely.  One  man,  in  addition  to  all  men  and 
women  in  whose  hearts  she  had  place,  shall  bear  this 
speedy  testimony,  namely,  to  the  great  and  full-orbed 
influence  for  purity  and  goodness  and  strength  coming 
into  his  life  from  her.  Her  great  magnanimity,  her 
large  intelligence,  her  steadfast  dutifulness,  her  roy- 
alty of  womanhood  my  wliole  heart  felt.  I  can  not 
make  her  dead.  I  can  not  associate  paleness  with 
that  glowing  face. 

"  I  can  not  think  she  wished  so  soon  to  die, 
With  all  her  senses  full  of  ea^er  heat, 
And  the  hright  years  that  stood  expectant  by 
To  buckle  their  winged  sandals  on  her  feet." 

My  wife  and  I,  tearfully,  lovingly,  bear  you  all  in 
our  hearts  and  prayers, 

Henry  A.  Delano. 
Evanston,  III. 


A   YOUNG    WOMAN  JOURNALIST.  23 1 

At  the  time  Miss  Ames  passed  to  the  higher  life  I 
was  too  ill  to  pen  the  deep  sorrow  with  which  I  read 
the  announcement  of  your  loss. 

Our  loss,  I  may  say,  for  I,  too,  loved  her  truly  and 
counted  her  as  friend. 

Only  once  did  we  meet.  It  was  in  New  York, 
the  day  before  she  sailed  for  England.  It  was  a 
sweet  meeting — one  I  shall  never  forget.  Nor  shall 
I  ever  lose  the  charm  of  her  sincere,  enthusiastic 
nature.  It  was  felt  in  all  the  many  notes  and  letters 
she  sent  me,  even  to  the  last,  written  shortly  before 
the  Boston  convention. 

Brave,  lovely,  brief  young  life  !  In  it  were  com- 
pressed the  work,  the  thought,  the  development  of 
threescore  and  ten  !  It  is  not  ended,  it  is  only 
begun.  Here,  where  she  still  lives  and  loves  and 
labors,  her  work  gloriously  goes  on. 

Hester  M.  Poole. 
New  York  City. 

HER   LAST   DAY. 

And  with  the  dawn  those  angel  faces  smile 
That  I  have  loved  long  since,  and  lost  awhile. 

—Cardinal  Newman. 

That  day  in  its  wonderful  splendor  of  light 

Grew  fairer  as  onward  it  rolled  ; 
It  dawned  in  a  glory  of  sapphire  and  rose. 

It  died  in  a  glory  of  gold. 
We  spoke  much  of  life,  of  its  promises  fair, 

Its  sweetness,  its  sorrows,  its  fear, 
Of  its  work  to  be  done,  of  its  burdens  to  bear, 

And  we  dreamed  not  one  Presence  drew  near, — 


232  A    YOUNG    WOMAN   JOURNALIST. 

We  dreamed  not  there  waited,  unseen  by  our  eyes, 

The  angel  to  lead  her  away  ; 
Unguessed  was  that  Presence,  unheard  the  replies 

That  thrilled  through  the  air  of  that  day,, 

And  still  all  that  wonderful  glory  of  light 

Enchanted  the  fast  gliding  hours. 
And  an  undefined  prescience  touched  her  with  its  spell 

While  the  sunshine  lay  low  on  the  flowers, — 

And  the  angels  whose  faces  had  smiled  from  the  dawn 

Drew  near  her  with  beckoning  hand  ; 
One  look,  one  last  word,  and  with  "  Victory  gained" — 

She  had  gone  to  the  Wonderful  lyand. 

Lilian  Whiting 

Boston,  Blass, 


My  heartfelt  sympathy  goes  out  to  3^011  all  ai 
"Rest  Cottage"  in  the  loss  of  the  rare,  beautiful 
soul  ;  life  was  so  young,  so  full,  so  inspiring  with 
promise  for  Yolande.  My  eyes  rest  upon  the  little 
volume,  *'The  Diary  of  an  Old  Soul,"  by  George 
Macdonald,  a  book  given  me  by  her,  and  I  read 
this  therein  : 

"  All  tilings  seem  rushing  straight  into  the  dark  ! 
But  the  (lark  still  is  God." 

That  was  Yolande's  beautiful  faith,  I  know.     It  takes 
the  rarest  heroism  to  attain  to  it. 

Rkna  A.  Michaels. 
Albion,  Mich. 


A   YOUNG   WOMAN  JOURNALIST.  233 

I  write  to  say  how  deepl}'  I  sympathize  with  you 
in  the  death  of  one  whose  life  is  a  national  loss. 
Some  day  you  can  say, 

"  Well  done  of  God  to  halve  the  lot 
And  give  her  all  the  sweetness, 
To  us  the  empty  room  and  cot, 

To  her  the  heaven's  completeness." 

SalliE  F.  Chapin. 
Charleston,  S.  C. 


I  know  you  are  full  of  sorrow  for  the  loss  of  your 
noble,  loving  friend,  your  rare  Julia  Ames.  She  came 
to  me  in  Washington  to  arrange  a  meeting  for  L<ady 
Henry  Somerset.  I  recognized  at  once  how  dear  and 
brave,  how  single-hearted  and  devoted  she  was.  I^ater 
on,  I  had  a  glimpse  of  what  a  noble,  earnest  mind, 
gentle  nature,  and  exquisite,  generous  character  was 
hers.  *  *  *  How  wonderful  that  the  moment  that 
brought  Lady  Henry  Somerset  into  your  life  should 
have  taken  that  brave,  bright,  loving  one  beyond. 
OwvE  RisivEY  Seward. 
Washington,  D.  C. 


It  was  not  until  I  came  home  that  I  heard  of  the 
loss  you  sustained  in  the  death  of  Miss  Ames,  but  I 
feel  as  did  Miss  West — she  is  promoted.  Though  we 
lose  her,  in  some  ways  suffer  by  the  loss,  yet  we 
should  rather  rejoice  than  grieve.  You  who  knew 
her  so  well,  loved  her  so  truly,  as  your  tributes  tes- 
tify, can  but  feel  glad  she  received,  if  here  from  human 
hearts,    how    much    more    so    from   our    Father   in 


234  ^   YOUNG    WOMAN  JOURNALIST. 

heaven  :   ' '  Well  done,  thou  good  and  faithful  serv- 
ant."    Ah  !  happy,  truly  happy  "  Yolande." 

Mrs.  Sallie  A.  Moore. 

(Third  Vice-President,  Catholic  Total  Abstinence  Union  of  America.) 


I  deeply  condole  with  you  on  the  loss  of  Miss 
Ames  to  your  work  on  the  earth.  Has  she  not  now 
made  a  journey  far  more  agreeable  to  her  than  any 
other  she  might  make  ?      I  am  very  truly, 

Joseph  P.  Egan. 

Si.  Teresa's  Church,  Tarrytown,  New  York. 


Permit  me  to  offer  a  few  words  of  condolence  and 
sympathy  in  your  bereavement.  I  had  watched  with 
most  friendly  interest  for  every  item  of  news  about 
Miss  Ames'  condition,  and  was  gratified  to  read  in 
The  Signal,  on  Saturday  last,  that  her  friends  might 
welcome  her  home  on  Christmas.  I  was  shocked 
therefore,  on  reading  the  notice  of  her  death  in  yester- 
day's papers.  Requiem  aeternam  ei,  Domine,  dona. 
May  she  celebrate  Christmas  in  Heaven  ! 

(Father)  J.  M.  Cleary. 
Kenosha,  Wis. 


She  seemed  almost  a  personal  friend,  her  cordial 
words  being  a  pleasant  feature  of  my  work  for  T/ie 
Union  SigJial,  and  I  send  this  word  of  sympathy 
for  the  many  who  will  miss  her. 

Helen  Campbell. 

New  York  City. 


A   YOUXG   WOMAN  JOURNALIST.  235 

My  heart  has  been  full  of  sympathy  with  you  in 
this  grievous  loss.  It  is  one  that  can  not  be  easily 
made  up.  I  wrote  Mr.  Stead  about  it,  and  he  wrote 
in  reply  that  he  felt  he  had  lost  his  best  friend  in 
America. 

Hannah  Whitall  Smith. 
Londo7t,  Eng. 

My  Dear  Miss  Willard: 

I  am  desired  by  the  Executive  Committee  to  con- 
vey to  you  their  deep  sympathy  in  the  loss  you  have 
sustained  through  the  death  of  your  loving  co-worker, 
Miss  Julia  A.  Ames.  It  is  a  strange  Providence  that 
robs  us  of  our  dearest  ones— those  whom  we  think 
the  world  most  needs  to  add  purity  of  thought.  We 
can  not  see  through  God's  great  plan  at  the  time 
He  makes  His  programs,  but  we  can  acknowledge 
that  as  He  gave  to  the  world  these  beautiful  flowers, 
He  has  a  perfect  right  to  call  them  back  to  Himself 
when  He  has  need  of  them. 

We  all  learned  to  love  the  noble  and  gifted  white- 
ribboner,  when  she  was  in  England,  hence  we  can 
feel  what  is  your  irreparable  loss. 

Yours  in  deep  sympathy, 

jRssiE  A.  Fowler. 

(Hon.  Secretary  British  Women's  Temperance  Association.) 


To  me,  far  away  from  the  blessed  activities  of 
your  great  labors,  the  death  of  Miss  Ames  is  pecul- 
iarly sad.  I  felt  drawn  to  her  directly  I  .saw  her, 
when  she  was  in  England.  She  inspired  me — and  I 
felt  my  heart  go  out  instinctively  to  her  in  trust.     To 


236  A    YOUNG    WOMAN   JOURNALIST. 

look  into  her  face  was  to  believe  in  her.  Oh,  these 
heart-hurts — how  many  we  seem  to  get  as  we  go 
along  ;  but  are  they  not  the  glories  of  the  warfare  ? 

I  have  been  looking  over  the  few  letters  it  was 
my  great  pleasure  to  receive  from  Miss  Ames  about 
the  Press  Work  for  England  ;  from  one  I  copy  the 
following  paragraph  which  reveals  the  charm  of  that 
twofold  side  of  human  nature  which  in  Miss  Ames 
was  so  graphically  marked — the  mystical,  art-loving, 
imaginative  side,  and  the  splendidly  practical,  con- 
sistent adherence  to  duty  : 

"  As  I  write,  my  thoughts  go  back  to  the  delight- 
ful afternoon  I  spent  with  you  in  the  Dore  Gallery. 
How  I  would  love  to  see  those  wonderful  pictures 
again  !  One  especially  haunts  me,  the  young  monk 
seated  at  the  organ  gazing  at  the  .shadowy  image  of 
his  lost  love.  But  I  must  not  allow  my  thoughts  to 
wander  in  dreamland,  while  so  many  real  duties 
demand  attention.     God  bless  you  ! 

With  many  fond  remembrances, 
Ev^er  yours, 

Julia  A.  Ames." 

What  would  .she  desire  more  than  that  the 
thought  of  her,  and  the  voice  that  yet  .speaketh, 
should  urge  others  to  rouse  them  from  the  too  self- 
centered  mood  which  means  inertia,  and  lead  them 
to  glorify  the  common  duties  of.  daily  life,  by  per- 
forming them  in  the  spirit  of  their  most  beautiful 
and  Heaven-inspired  ideals? 

May  the  strength  of  the  Lord  God  be  yours  in 
much  power,  for  the    battles  that    remain,   and    His 


A   YOUNG    WOMAN  JOURNALIST.  237 

Spirit  quicken  the  zeal  of  all  your  loving  followers,  is 
tlie  heartfelt  prayer  of 

Yours  most  faithfully, 

Mary  AlIvARD  Poole. 

(Press  Supt.  B.  W.  T.  .A.) 


DEAR  Union  Signal  : 

lyike  the  news  of  the  death  of  a  dear  friend  came 
the  mourning  borders  of  your  issue  of  December  17. 
I  knew  not  Miss  Ames  in  the  flesh,  though  it  was 
one  of  my  hopes  that  during  a  possible  visit  to  Amer- 
ica some  day,  I  might  learn  to  know  her.  From  the 
few  communications  that  had  passed  between  us,  I 
had  come  to  cherish  association  with  her,  even  at  this 
distance,  as  a  privilege,  and  to  look  upon  her  as  a 
personal  friend.  I  grieve  with  her  friends  and  asso- 
ciates, yet  I  join  with  them  in  the  belief  that  "He 
doeth  all  things  well." 

Henry  J.  Osborne. 
Londott,  Ejig. 


^Resolutions. 

As  a  perpetual  memorial  of  Miss  Julia  A.  Ames, 
whose  bright  young  life  has  so  recently  gone  from 
our  midst,  we  recommend  that  December  12th  be 
observed,  from  year  to  year,  by  all  Y.  W.  C.  T. 
Unions,  by  holding  a  special  meeting  to  be  called  the 
"Press  Memorial,"  when  plans  for  influencing  the 
secular  and  religious  press  for  temperance  shall  be 
devised    and   set  in  motion,  that  by  this  means  the 


238  A    YOUNG   WOMAN   JOURNALIST. 

National  Department,  which  our  dear  friend  and 
co-worker  had  so  much  at  heart,  and  for  which  she 
labored  so  earnestly,  may  be  continued  with  renewed 
interest  and  vigor. 

Frances  J.  Barnes. 

(World's  and  National  Superintendent  Young  Women's  Work.) 

Mrs.  F.  S.  Evans. 

(Department  Secretary.) 


The  General  Officers  of  the  National  W.  C.  T.  U. 
oorrowfully  record  their  sense  of  the  great  loss  that 
has  come  to  the  organization  in  the  untimely  death  of 
Miss  Julia  A.  Ames,  one  of  the  editors  of  our  official 
organ,   The  Union  Signal. 

Miss  Ames  had  walked  with  us  six  years,  and 
though  the  youngest  of  our  leaders,  we  may  rever- 
ently say  that  ' '  her  ways  were  ways  of  pleasantness, 
and  all  her  paths  were  peace."  To  a  noble  presence, 
she  united  a  mind  and  heart  as  noble,  an  enthusiasm 
of  humanity  born  in  her  soul  from  love  and  loyalty  to 
Christ,  and  a  patient  continuance  in  well-doing  worthy 
of  all  praise.  We  trusted  even  more  than  we  admired 
her,  and  we  loved  her  most  of  all.  Her  life  and  char- 
acter so  early  matured  will  be  a  precious  legacy  to  us, 
her  elder  sisters,  and  to  the  great  society  that  had 
realized  so  much  and  hoped  for  so  much  more  from 
her  beautiful  powers. 

We  send  our  tender  sympathies  to  her  bereft  par- 
ents, brothers  and  sisters,  and  all  her  large  circle  of 
loving  relatives  ;  to  all  her  comrades  and  associates  in 
the    Woman's   Temperance    Publishing   Association, 


A   YOUNG    WOMAN  JOURNALIST.  239 

and  the  Illinois  and  Chicago  Central  W.  C.  T.  U.; 
to  the  family  at  Rest  Cottage,  to  whom  she  had 
grown  to  be  like  a  daughter  beloved  ;  and  to  that 
faithful  and  nearest  friend,  Miss  Helen  h.  Hood, 
whose  great  and  loyal  heart  sheltered  her  even  until 
life's  most  mystic  and  solemn  hour,  when,  with  the 
words,  "Yolande,  is  n't  it  Christ  and  victory?  "  and 
the  radiant,  responsive  smile  of  heaven  upon  the  face 
of  her  we  loved,  the  two  comrades  parted  company 
\intil  the  resurrection  morning. 

[Signed] 

Frances  E.  Willard, 
Caroune  B.  Buell, 
Mary  A.  Woodbridge, 
L.  M.  N.  Stevens, 
Esther  Pugh. 


The  general  officers  of  the  World's  W.  C.  T.  U. 
record  with  profound  sorrow  the  loss  of  one  whose 
presence  at  their  first  convention  so  recently  held,  was 
one  of  its  brightest  inspirations.  Miss  Julia  Ames  was 
loved  and  admired,  not  only  by  her  American  sisters, 
but  she  won  the  hearts  of  England's  women  dur- 
ing her  brief  sojourn  in  that  country,  and  across  the 
water  many  loyal  souls  will  echo  the  voice  of  mourn- 
ing which  is  heard  in  this  land.  Her  rare  talent  and 
her  great  gifts  had  earned  her  a  place  of  almost  un- 
precedented importance  for  one  so  young  ;  but  of  her 
it  may  well  be  said :  ' '  The  best  of  any  life  escapes 
record ;  its  fragrance  and  beauty  and  song,  its  joy 
and  its  pathos  are  too  evanescent  for  memorial. ' ' 


240  A    YOUNG    WOMAN   JOURNALIST, 

We  do  not  understand  the  reason  why  our  Heav- 
enly Father  deemed  it  to  be  well  that  she  should  be 
sent  as  our  World's  delegate  to  the  "  land  that  is  very 
far  off"  ;  we  only  know  the  Master  had  need  of  her 
and  that  as  her  life  was  consecrated  to  His  service, 
so  it  may  be  He  had  work  that  we  know  not  of  for 
her  to  do.  On  her  the  choice  has  fallen,  and  we  who 
sorrow,  yet  for  her  rejoice,  echo  the  words  of  one  to 
whom  it  has  been  given  to  see  much  of  the  mystery 
beyond,  and  say  with  Hannah  Whitall  Smith,  '^ Happy 
Yolaiide.^^  Our  deepest  sympathy  is  with  the  hearts 
that,  bound  to  her  by  the  ties  of  blood  and  closest 
friendship,  sorrow  most  of  all. 

Our  teuderest  thanks  are  offered  to  those  true  com- 
rades whose  medical  skill  and  loving,  faithful  hands 
tended  her  during  the  long  hours  of  her  illness  and 
death. 

We  look  in  sure  and  certain  hope  to  the  day  when 
we  shall  meet  that  great,  loyal  heart  again.  We  feel 
that  the  time  is  short,  and  it  remains  for  us  who  lin- 
ger here  awhile,  devotedly  to  carry  forward  that  work 
for  the  great  suffering  world  for  which  she  was  ready 
to  lay  down  her  fair  and  brave  young  life. 

Frances  E.  Willard,  Pres. 

Isabel  Somerset,  Vicc-Prcs.-at-large. 
World's  IV.  C.  T.  U.  \  Mary  A.  Woodbridge,  Sec. 

Anna  A.  Gordon,  Ass't  Sec. 

Ella  Williams,  Treas. 


If 


